LIONS & LAMBS

This book contains a fraction of the wisdom and knowledge gifted to us by many people, in many parts of the world. We will forever be in their debt, for giving us their time and their knowledge. The journey was made possible by the 2012 Byera Hadley Travelling Scholarship.

With thanks to Jacqueline Chenney, Alan Powell, Andrew Burns, Paul Pholeros, Michael Tawa and the NSW Architects Registration Board. Dedicated to Wal Chenney. You were a lion amongst lambs.

LIONS AND LAMBS

PART ONE

THE CREATIVE POTENTIAL OF INDIGENOUS WORLD VIEW

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CONTENTS FOREWORD ARCHITECT? SOCIAL WORKER? THE RELEVANCE OF ARCHITECTURE INDIGENOUS TO WHERE? BRITISH HI-TECH HIERARCHY OF WHOSE NEEDS? ALCHEMY & TRANSPARENCY LEADER LONG LEASHES COKE BOTTLES THE GREAT LANDSCAPE VERBS & NOUNS DOING & SAYING THE LAW OF ABSTRACTION FIRST & SECOND ROMANTICISM PARTICIPATION? THE ART OF LISTENING THE LAND OF THE EAGLE EVERYONE PLAYS THEIR ROLE THE DEATH OF HIERARCHY RESPECT & HUMILITY MATRIARCHS COMMON CENTS SWEAT EQUITY SPEECHLESS EDUCATION & EXTRACTION BLEEDING HEARTS AGON PROJECTS PEOPLE

5 15 21 27

38 41 47

53 59 65 73 79 85 93 99

105 113 119

125 133 139 145 151 157

163 169 177

183 191 197

203 214 215

CONTENTS

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Lions and Lambs

Written by Thomas Gray

Photography by Jacqueline Chenney and Thomas Gray

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01. Essences

We don’t sit long enough to ask the right questions.

At the beating heart of this journey is the desire to witness the emancipation of long-established negotiation practices and wealth of creative currency inside Aboriginal worldviews around the world. The word ‘creative’ is used, not in the sense of pursuing delight, but more in the act of generating streams of thought, from passion and reason with respect to the land and sociocultural landscapes that hold one’s spirit together.

Before anything else, this is truth. To an architect or designer, it is particularly unimpressive and uninspiring to witness the collective consciousness and creative capacities of a people be ignored. The suppressing of one’s world view on account of cultural imperialism, not only smokes out the chance of learning something new, it holds the architecture world hostage in a kind of debilitating state of paral-ysis. In my mind I liken the Indigenous worldviews to which I have encountered to be like the ocean, or some kind of constellation. One isn’t quite sure of the extent of its value on their immediate state of being, only that they can feel held by its strength and its vastness, and see infinite possibility in what is un-known. It is a commanding thought for architecture.

And so it was in this light that the journey was con-ceived and in this deep respect and humility for what we don’t-yet-know, the journey remained, as it shift-ed across four continents and countless places. It is about people and the stories that have guided the course of innumerable conversations and exercises in listening. Hence, in this way, the interconnectedness and vastness of themes that have developed, are both inescapable and necessary. To conceive of an Indigenous driven design process by isolating only a few key themes, like butterflies under

microscopes, is to do the exact opposite of what has been learnt. In the simplest sense, the collection of knowledge is centered around the right for Indigenous com-munities to be self-determined, not just through new modes of economic sustainment, sociocultural, physical and political health, but in creative health and the reestablishment of intellectual capital and knowledge that is invaluable to the world. The vehi-cle in this case to frame these cross-disciplinary ideas is architecture, and specifically the design process. The repercussions of well practiced Indigenous driv-en design processes are innumerable to the complete sociocultural setting of healthy, agonistic pluralism and cultural restoration.

An Indigenous driven design process may not result in physical buildings per se but it is very much about architecture, it’s relevance to marginalized popula-tions and the role that architects and socially engaged practitioners have. Architecture is the facilitation of place and can give rise to new forms of positive socio-cultural interaction, creative health and modes of internal sustainment. Even though this journey is situated for the most part in the intangible, it should not be confused with architecture-without-service or indeed architecture-without-purpose. If it is even within the realm of architectural practice to create something non-physical, such as the planning for culturally appropriate architecture, development and enterprise to naturally arise, then there is little doubt it must provide service or it is dead weight on a ship already full of water.

With all the discourse around the dissolving role of the architect and the relevance of the profession in socially disrupted settings, perhaps this writing is a timely middle ground and chance to reflect on sto-ries and knowledge from the ground, to establish a better understanding of the past, present and future. It may seem like a philosophical deflection away from firmness and commodity but it is necessary to sit and listen to each other, particularly our elders, before we add more paper notes to the fire. To even imagine justifying community engagement, consul-tation or participation as a serious practice while Australian Aboriginal people are yet to be acknowl-edged in the Constitution of their own country, is stretching the limits of a people’s spirit slightly far. Perhaps it is in this non-space, or non-physical that the rebirth of architecture-with-service and the resurgence of Indigenous worldviews, language and culture can emerge together as we begin to rethink

FOREWORD

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how we look at the design process, its relationship to empowerment and the opposite of creative coloni-zation.

There is still a lot of healing and strengthening to do before we can fathom the creation and widespread influence of something we don’t know we don’t even know. The architectural community and the systems and economic structure that hold it up will continue to survive, regardless of this piece of writing. This isn’t a silver bullet; it is a call to action for hones-ty about the profession, and realities of creative negotiation and agonistic pluralism in architecture, particularly in Indigenous communities. One is either listening to people or they are colonizing. Both are effective mechanisms for survival and moving for-ward together, depending entirely on how you feel about equality, creativity and your level of comfort with cultural imperialism.

The topics explored are vast, and sometimes spill over the edges of architecture’s obligation but such is the nature of the enquiry, and it would be contradictory to all that we know about knowledge as a verb to create a hierarchy of importance around topics. With this in mind, one can think of commu-nity-driven design practices in two ways. The first involves the presence of an outside agency, which swells and expands with opportunities and threats, depending entirely on the community and the nature of the outsider. Here, we can examine the motives of Institutional relationships with community, the role of the architect, the power of a catalyst and the interesting phenomenon of exogenous participation. Secondly, is the internal dynamics of communities irrespective of a foreign presence on the ground. In this space, is the shadowy unknown of possibility that real greatness lies. This is where the spirit of Indigenous worldview, still recovering from recent past events, ticks away in harmony with the natural rhythms of the world. Verb based languages, ma-triarchal planning systems, shamans, eagles and the British Hi-Tech, all intertwined together, ultimately singing the same song. To reach actual equality and celebrated diversity, one must consider the systems and worldviews of those other than their own. The search for an Indigenous driven design process, evi-dently, uncovered much more than architecture itself.

Jo Noero . Cape Town

Clay . Cape Town

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01. Intro

It is not the existence of architects that is in ques-tion.

One must strongly believe that people do need architects, their ingenuity and what the skills they can bring to a situation or community. That doesn’t mean, of course they want to relinquish control of their whole town over to the next Le Corbusier and why would they? But for anyone to generalize that all architects are master creative colonists and full of ego is dangerously immature.

It is not the ego, the ingenuity, nor the intention that we are concerned with. There is plenty of time throughout this book to discuss that. What we are discussing now, specifically, is the obligation and methods of the architect. If an architect doesn’t draw anything, are they still an architect? And what if the manifestation of the design doesn’t have four walls and roof? What if an Indigenous architect in a remote community delivers firmness, commodity and delight through unconventional design processes specific to their worldview? Would they be consid-ered an architect? We first need to understand the definitions, confusions, restrictions and potential for a shift in the ‘types’ of architects, to fathom their relevance to the topic at all.

02. Definition

Let us start with what we know before considering everything we don’t. In speaking with Cape Town architect Jo Noero, we examine the origins of the ar-chitect. ‘The classical definition from the Greeks was that architects practiced an art brought into being in order to satisfy a social purpose.’ The first question is, why don’t we practice this today? So architects must carry with them an ethical dimension.

The role of the architect is really to believe in a

vision that has arisen out of a participatory process – the definition of which will be scrutinized later. Their job is to express and integrate multiple scales and levels of aspiration of the vision statement for the whole nation plus the needs of that one commu-nity in the creation of common spaces of gathering and health.

The task is then articulating not only the building, but also the process of its inception and develop-ment that may begin to weave a fabric of skills, information sharing, language and knowledge pro-duction beyond its immediate brief. In other words, the skill of the architect is to do as an elder may do, and let the things that need to become things, do so on their own accord and be able to create space or strategy around the pure intention of these things. Most of the time architects do their best to craft something good and then move off – the question is always; can the building or system survive? It’s always a leveler the architect.

The role of the architect is also in surpassing physical form. There is this idea that it may not be a building but a way of life that an architect is design-ing and if you can’t design the end, you can design a beginning, like a seed in the soil with the hope of rain.

There is a fundamental question here. Does the ar-chitect bend to become the designer of the intangi-ble or is this considered ‘planning’? To stay truthful, the architect is always concerned with the physical formation of space to carry meaning and serve a purpose to those around it. This definition need not change but it is perhaps ‘how’ we get to that point that is the mechanism for the metamorphosis of the architects’ definition. Maybe a set of construction drawings is a constructed narrative developed over a ten-day walk in the bush, building a story around a building such that all the characters and their duties are laid out on a stage and ready for production. Romantic sure, but is this not also design?

Often architects are stained with the blood of abstraction or irrelevance to anyone other than architects themselves. In working in the Yukon, Alanna Quock referenced 1960s land based artists as precedents and was criticized for being esoter-ic, that is to say, the design was only accessible or understandable to an enlightened few. One can relate this to the plight of marginalized groups in defining established ways of doing as ‘new’ to the uneducated majority. Is the role of the architect to find new ways to communicate esoteric ideas, or is the phenome

ARCHITECT?

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non that we consider Indigenous worldview esoteric, the very root of a debilitating culturally hegemonic society in the first place? Who budges here? The enlightened few or the unenlightened many? One could argue, that the Yukon project wasn’t esoteric at all, but the diversion from the expected definition of the architect is what caused the creative short circuit in the minds of the critics. The architect is always standing on shifting sand. In Skidegate, Haida Gwaii the creation of a school has the architect juggling the school board who is paying them and the all voices of the culture to whom you are working with. It is a dance, only few are capable of dancing well.

03. Confusion

Architects, unfortunately are becoming less reputable in a globalized world of precedent and trend. The unfortunate byproduct of which, is their weakened usefulness in Indigenous communities in the hope of redefining new ways of doing. As Jo Noero clearly states, ‘architects need to get away from being taste mongers.’ To move away from saying ‘we’re good designers and make beautiful things’ back to saying, ‘we make useful things that contribute to society, that satisfy the basic health needs of people and provide positive sociocultural settings for which worldviews may thrive, grow, evolve and interact.’

Perhaps it isn’t the dissolution of the architect that is necessary but rather the propensity for selling taste. This is precarious ground as tastes change year to year. It takes five years to build a building, but tastes change every year. The market thrives on the con-sumption of the new and architects need to escape from this.

If architects were performing their jobs properly we wouldn’t need to talk about participatory processes, we would be just as trained at listening to people as we would be in making buildings. Perhaps it is the fact that some don’t do the job properly that means we invent words like participation.

In Indigenous community projects there is a confusion that the architect, is placed in a precari-ous position whereby they must absorb borrowed guilt or the responsibility of alleviating everybody’s suffering. As an outsider the architect must always operate by commitment rather than fear. The role of the architect should never start with fear. This fear is engrained in disconnected vision - from deliverables,

to mutual cultural respect, to changing perceptions of time. The confusion for the relevance of architects at all is perhaps the most interesting in some Indigenous communities. People will ask why you became an architect, when they were capable of building their own house. It is this pragmatic resourcefulness of First Nations people that is inherent. One must learn to respond to that and as architects they must pro-duce buildings and projects that aren’t unnecessarily complicated otherwise they’ll be seen as wasteful and foreign.

04. Restrictions

The architect’s role may become static and isolated from the whole story. One of the dilemmas of the architectural profession is that its responsibility as a firm, dedicated and definable service is the very thing that prevents its continuation in a story and the bleeding of its edges across cultures and timeframes.

The isolation of the role of the architect in set boundaries of time, usually defined by economic efficiency, can severe the connective tissue between worldviews through the disconnection of the rela-tionships and mutual patterns of understanding built up over intensely emotional and bonding experienc-es during the design process. Peter Rich describes, ‘it’s like helping raise a child and then being told you’re not allowed to visit, even on Sundays.’ Perhaps an Indigenous driven design process would demand different parameters for the architects’ character in the whole story.

Another restriction of the architect is the unmanage-able inception of possibility from outside influences on communities. These promises that can’t be kept, like the promises made to traders about the ground level spaces in the Alexandra Interpretation Centre, inevitably lead to political unrest and severed rela-tionships. The architect needs to be careful where they position themselves in this contestation or they can be completely blamed. The restriction is that architect can never be involved in the politics but must succumb to the results of its expression. The true joy in an Indigenous driven design process will be developing healthy political landscapes that are responsible for the rational self-management of the politics, not the politics themselves.

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05. Practical architects

The ‘practical architect’ is one that seeks formal composition and spatial quality in the spaces be-tween buildings while physically designing by doing.

A common disconnection of architects from the practical realities of making things is a discussion for later in this book. Not enough architects are on the ground, living in the cultures they are writing about. Peter Rich didn’t travel to Rome to do his beaux-arts architectural training. He spent time living with aboriginal cultures before apartheid got to them, instead of throwing petrol bombs in the sixties. The practical architects role in stemming the flow of neg-ative reactionary cultural landscapes is the peaceful path to resistance against creative hegemony, power and control.

The master builder process as design process arose from a discussion with Alfred Waugh in Vancouver. Many architects were historically the master builders and project managers until the late 1800’s. Since then this idea of designing during construction, like a master builder might, has been severed on account of this phenomenon of real estate entity, real estate agents selling property and developers becoming a separate entity. In remote Indigenous communities where buildings are depreciating assets, it makes sense to revisit these traditional design and build processes that provide broader scope for economic development and capacity building and that are more in line culturally with creating space as a physical task to be celebrated with alchemy and pride - a tangible and useful exercise in the collective.

The architect as developer model places equal value on the environment, sociocultural landscape and the economy. If you look at developing that way, one can be always making profit while remaining aware of the restorative capabilities of their profession. In the current model of design process the archi-tect spends all their time and energy engaging and actually becoming a part of the peoples vision and spirit so as to deliver, as best possible, the physical manifestation of that vision, but at the end of the day the numbers or the actual economics are in the hands of someone else. Instead of complaining all the time about cost cuts and unsuitable time frames, one can take responsibility for this. If you want value, collective vision and intention-based develop-ment this is a viable path.

True empowerment and microeconomic autonomy might be found in a model closer to the architect

as developer. What makes a pro forma work on a project? If one can understand this there is no way they couldn’t make a project work under their terms. As an Indigenous architect come developer inside a community this could have profound rewards. To imagine an Indigenous driven design process, we must look at the current mentality of many contract-ed construction companies operating in Indigenous communities today. The ‘what you see is what you get’ attitude whilst leaving no knowledge behind has to stop. The creation of a construction-based design philosophy grounded in sociocultural and environ-mental sensibility as well as functionality, is not only interesting but also necessary.

We have talked about another word for architect be-ing one of a practical nature and building one to one details in a workshop full of sparks and burnt wood shavings. But how practical is this construction bias design process? Progressive, firm and honest design is rooted in the technical capacities of materials and construction but develops out of the unknown ter-ritories of our minds. How then, does this marriage between unique creativity and construction function, when it generally runs counter to the mastery of skill through repetition of detail? 06. Future

Right now, in many Indigenous communities we are not creating the possibilities for local architects under the aforementioned definitions to emerge. So what does this mean for the profession? Should the architect as we know it shift its definition con-textually, or is the level of architectural education imbalanced in the favor of non-indigenous hence rendering the question immature?

John Elliott from the Saanich people on Vancouver Island spoke about the future of his community clearly. He said the community needs people teach-ing architecture from their view of what that is. John comments about the new identity of architect from within Saanich worldview as being a necessity, but a mystery all the same. He says, there is still a way to go yet, but they are moving in that direction. The strong vision for an architectural education from within a community is one of the backbones to the realization of an Indigenous driven design process.

To continue asking Indigenous communities to contort themselves into the boxes of our established mechanisms and definitions in development is unin-telligent, unjust and uninteresting.

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Diepsloot . Johannesburg

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01. Define Designer

Are architects whores? They will generally do work for anyone in the spirit of a creative challenge. Is the backlash against this rampant prostitution resulting in shy architects, confusing their role as one more akin to a generalist designer?

The dissolving role of architect and its assimilation into the broad meadows of ‘designer’ first came up in conversation with Jo Noero in Cape Town. Vitruvius spoke of firmness, commodity and delight and for a long time this was a pretty accurate way of describing the work of an architect and essential to distinguishing it from general designing. Delight, of course, is in the eye of the beholder. Firmness and commodity, or the honesty of what archicture can do - buildings that stand up and suit their purpose and satisfy a need – has, to many degrees, been lost and is fundamental in understanding the relevance of architecture in Indigenous driven design processes.

What is perhaps most interesting in the recognition of firmness and commodity in Indigenous driven design processes, is that the commodity component of place-making may not necessarily be the addition of architecture to satisfy a need but the subtraction of architecture to develop a culture of place making as sociocultural negotiations and strat-egies, rather than physical outstations or postcodes. Delight is a precarious condition and its recogni-tion as a luxury is even more precarious. That we seek delight as the goal is a huge shift away from the function of making, firmness and commodity, whatever form may take. And what to make of this bourgeois individualism that is running rampant in the Western context? One should argue that we are all creative beings and designers at heart but it is not to say we are all specialists and style mongers. That is an entirely different beast. It is the confusion of

this ‘designer’ role with that of the architects that is muddying the waters. In the Indigenous context there are no holy grails of parametric delight simply because life exists outside ones own hedonistic pursuits. A ‘designer’ in an Indigenous context would have to perform some role other than making shiny things, if they are to be as useful as lawyers and leaders. In the First Nations worldview, a firm grasp the seven generations sur-rounding the actions of your ‘design’ is the exciting differential. 02. Bad architects, good social workers

People that do socially oriented architecture are bad architects!

This is a legitimate feeling among some architectural professionals today, a notion so dangerously egotis-tical it is impossible to begin to dissect. So we have this reinforced distinction that architects that have great formal talent end up designing buildings and the less talented ones locate themselves in the area of social responsibility.

This misperception is cancerous in the progression of cross-cultural participation in the built environ-ment. One of the dangers of these participatory design discussions, or dialogue around ‘designing for democracy’ and other socially charged design agency discussions, is that participation isn’t evaluated, so all of these discussions operate on a surface-level. How does one provide evidence for what is bad architec-ture and even worse, what is socially engaged? If a building isn’t socially engaged then what is it? Paper notes to flames. Only worldview accustomed to the jettison of social purpose for other values could conceive of such a destructive, pointless statement. We need to mature or run the risk of architecture becoming irrelevant to the other 99% of the world. The destruction of this elitist attitude that good architecture is bound up with good taste isn’t the point. It is like white noise in a fish bowl with no real relevance to Indigenous societies. The idea that good taste is cultivated and you are educated into it is a most simplistic understanding of the possibilities of architecture. It is undoubtedly a cultural value phenomenon, where we priorities formal gymnas-tics over purposeful form and purposeful function because we don’t have the intellectual capacity to engage in something as complex as Indigenous worldview.

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03. The role of the facilitator

This discussion of architect as facilitator emerged from the Participatory City at the Guggenheim Mu-seum New York. The dissolving of the role of the architect into fa-cilitator or social worker is emerging and something that needs addressing, particularly in the context of Indigenous communities. Purpose and function are two pillars of useful and surviving societies, so for an architect to forfeit their skills in creating mean-ingful space may actually be a reduction in relevance. Is there an incompatibility between designer agency and participation?

The path to the assassination of architectural identi-ty is quite easy to track if you do the math. The truth is that many of the worlds marginalized communi-ties, Indigenous and otherwise, is dealing with issues far greater than architecture. The World Bank spends $13 billion on democratic local governance. So the question might be whether the presence of archi-tects, trained in making ‘things’ is essential or wheth-er the restoration of local governance is an issue for the political scientists. One should have a firm understanding in Indigenous driven design processes that the ‘thing’ doesn’t always take precedent over the health of the political landscape and its capacity for negotiation of ideas and cultural strengthening through knowledge sharing.

The idea of the architect becoming a social work-er or facilitator of human behavior is interesting. You change the world through political action and through revolutionary action. That is to say, not through the presence of design, but through healthy sociocultural settings that allow for self-determina-tion and eventually for design to emerge on its own. Is it in the interests of outsider architects to facilitate this transition in communities? Until First Nations have someone within a commu-nity capable of translating the community’s vision into a language that the architectural community can respond to and carry with honesty to its broad net of influence, we’ll still be dealing with this architect as facilitator paradigm. 04. Respect for expertise

We embellish certain human beings’ with supernat-ural capabilities as a way of understanding them in relation to how they affects us. We are humans after all, and need humans to carry meaning. We’ve

done it for centuries, with gods and deities. In this light, perhaps the changing role of the architect into a kind of watered down observer or facilitator of global social change is counter to how we feel about useful people, having extraordinary and definable skills and values. It is within Indigenous worldview that respect for knowledge and one’s craft is para-mount. If you make something and you have tools and you are good at it, you’re valuable. Usually most communities do recognize the compe-tency of architects and want that expertise to work for the community. In this sense it’s not a function of how or what but usually why. There doesn’t have to always be this tension of design or social work-er. Most communities would probably welcome a talented architect, just as you would welcome a talented hunter for food. It is ones intention that is a function of their compatibility in communities. That is to say, that they are acting from within the spirit of the communities vision. 05. Strong, hard hearts

The role of the architect carries a preconceived expectation that they will lead, but the architect as facilitator waits to be instructed. One must have a strong, hard heart and lead in order to follow. When defining the terms of engagement we find a lot of people care, but they also don’t care, or they don’t know to what degree they could be involved.

Oftentimes people require the strength and direction from an outsider in the first instance, to organize the array of possibility and particle matter that over-whelms even the well trained in design. If we look at the Squamish Lil’Wat Cultural Centre we see that the vision was a longhouse. The role of the archi-tect here surpasses that of the social worker as the responsibilities of ones training become heavier in weight. Alfred Waugh suggested to the people that this building couldn’t be another black box; it needs to be a lantern that speaks of light and knowledge.

The organization of choices is part of the responsi-bility of the architect rather than abandoning people. This is a more generous and loving thing to do than have a wild free-for-all, particularly when often we haven’t sat long enough with ourselves to ask what we truly need and why. To begin with something tan-gible to frame a dialogue with oneself and a commu-nity is a gift the architect can bring to community.

Typically the role of the architect is to not only to describe these choices or to make them digestible

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and intellectually available but also describe the limits of the choices to the people that are making them. In doing so the architect takes on the responsibility through the gradual process of delivering infor-mation. In Indigenous communities this system of negotiation has resulted in a kind of creative welfare, whereby the limits and parameters set by the external agency in participatory style creative negotiations are enough to asphyxiate any chance of intellectual ownership from the participant. In all of this we must always acknowledge the presence of an external agency, such is the nature of this chapter. Hence, we default to talking about community situations that aren’t at a stage of purely internally driven processes. In this instance the cre-ative negotiation would look much different. We are moving past these tokenistic forms of consultation and hopefully to a point where the strong, hard heart of the architect can be put to good use, making good spaces.

It does take stamina for an agency to be immersed in another culture and remain strong and true to their limitations and purpose. Where catalysts become cancerous is when the external agency becomes a part of the political landscape of the community and can no long fulfill their functional role. To do participation without acknowledging these power and politics is bunk. That is to say, it is not the role of the architect to be engaged in the power dynam-ics or politics of a community, but to understand its complexity and nature of its shifting ground, before assuming that participatory engagement with anyone remotely local looking is enough.

To be fair, the power of the catalyst in triangulat-ing some of these imbalances of internal forces is high, if done with respect, humility and perception. Furthermore, a lot of this really comes back to the amount of emotional and psychological load that is placed on the catalyst or agency, in negotiating the mine field of community dynamics and power rela-tionships, particularly when crossing over between native and non-native cultures. If you multiplied this energy by the energy spent by the community in developing trust and observing the intentions of the outsider, you get a strong argument for the develop-ment of an Indigenous driven design process, that is capable of maintaining naturally occurring participa-tion over generations, and collaborating with exter-nal agencies when community led briefs require it.

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Saanich Junior High School . Vancouver Island

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01. The Relevance of Architecture

Buildings are vehicles for change for big ideas.

One could conceive of a building and its process are capable of undoing the whole economic system and getting to the heart of what matters, simply through the expression of how we choose to design and build it. They can help put the systems of our society under a microscope and allow for question-ing to naturally and profoundly emerge. Architecture not only breeds the productive enquiry of architec-ture itself but of people and communities and how we build relationships. Building projects or indeed any development projects, are indicators of equal-ity and the maturity of a countries commitment to dissolving cultural hegemony. A building needs to be for the constituency for whom it is designed for, otherwise it will be demolished in the minds of the community. The graveyard of disused housing in Aboriginal Australia should be clear evidence of the imbalance of creative forces and decision making power systems that exist in Australia today.

This multiplicity of games needs to stop. We need to move on from creatively and intellectually stone walling whole cultural groups. The government can’t be to blame for not pushing more money into proj-ects when the autonomy and enterprising systems of governance in the community are unstable. They can be to blame, however, for creating more ‘things’ without giving thought to the systems of governance that indeed hold most people together. Government money could be used to stabilize the ground for In-digenous health and psychological prosperity where-by peaceful landscapes of agonistic exchange and self-organizing enterprises may emerge. As always it is the whole ecosystem that one must consider.

The relevance of architecture or the expression of a building and articulation of good space has tremen-dous value in its physical impacts on a people and a

built environment. However, in many cases it ismore what is done in buildings than what they are and what they provide for in terms of functioning space, that matters and is eventually self determined. Projects that facilitate this best naturally lead to poli-cy and process, which in turn leads to more estab-lished internally driven mechanisms. Albert Marshall from the Mi’kmaq First Nation in Nova Scotia spoke about architecture as an obvious need to complete the picture of coexistence. How can people be expected to do this without a dwell-ing? You can revive everything else and fail to meet peoples dwelling needs and the system will even-tually swallow Aboriginal culture. There are spatial qualities that all human beings respond to, especially those with a deeper connection to the rhythms of the natural world. Can certain phenomenological properties of architecture triangulate cultural indif-ference?

Are boxes what people should be buried in? If we move past the formal qualities of the box, we see confinement and a lack of oxygen. Architecture can be used to raise the human spirit and hence it isn’t just in the sheltering of bodies that the relevance of architecture lies. In the same way natural light can free you, poorly designed space can imprison you. When designing Red Deer Church, Douglas, whose father is from warrior clan of the blood tribe of the Blackfoot nation asked, ‘why is church just Sunday for an hour or two? People should have spiritual spaces all the time.’

02. Narrative

Telling stories is the great leveler.

We tend to focus on immediate basic need during the design process so we may arrive at facts much quicker. But to arrive at essences we must begin a narrative. How do these needs connect to a greater story? The power of telling stories and alternate futures breaks away from the immediate by visioning the unknown, whilst all the time being born out of the immediate. It is like the eagle that sees the future, while moving over solid ground.

Nadia Painfil informs us of a Mapuche architect that has been spending time in Llageupulli in the south of Chile gathering stories from people living in rukas. The task of such a process is not to use it to arrive at facts to create more rukas, or develop a project; it is to begin a narrative about the ruka and its character role in the scene of today. The power

THE RELEVANCE OF ARCHITECTURE

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of architectural enquiry to birth stories is immea-surable, and in turn the power of stories to birth architecture that allows for a true belonging. It isn’t just the positive narratives that need to be told either. We need to be open an honest aboutthe apartheid that happened in Australia, and to some degree is still happening today. There are still lots of stories to be told - what is architectures role here? As an educated person it is within your obligation to help curate these narratives to allow for stories to emerge.

The power of the narrative in establishing archi-tectural possibility is equally strong in establishing healthy modes of reflection. In Alanna Quock’s trail project in the Yukon the tensions between tradition, culture and the realities of modern life need narra-tive to digest how or if we mediate those tensions through design and architecture. Again, before we arrive at facts, we must arrive at essences. How did people used to feel on the trail and why? What was the feeling when one went to sleep out there? From here we can envisage all the possible design oppor-tunities along that trail and how they may facilitate positive cultural landscapes.

Peter Rich reflects that in Africa the same mistakes are being repeated in the colonies fifteen years later than elsewhere. There is a need to reflect on this story to prevent cultural destruction in the future. Now there is an enlightenment happening in South Africa, as Africans gain confidence to be traders and the number of African government seats increases. We need more Indigenous South African architects to harness the power of reflective narrative and not repeat the mistakes of the past. That is not to say that an Indigenous person should become the same type of architect as is dictated by fellow architects outside their worldview, but to be able to understand and appreciate the profession to reconstruct its value and purpose in a cultural significant way. On a global scale, to understand that Elemental’s Quinta Monroy housing is adorned with awards goes only so far in communicating the values and prin-ciples of the project. But how is the narrative told of the seven-year struggle that the people endured before hand? Telling these stories of how people feel becomes culturally transcendent, as we see the physical realization of a peoples intention not just the built outcome.

Furthermore, the power of the narrative in the actu-al design process is undervalued. To celebrate each

milestone in the story of the building with food and ceremony during the design process, would make for a great overall story indeed and one capable of being carried through generations. 03. Stories make buildings

A good story is like a good mother. It can give birth to more stories, capable of carrying cultural legacy with respect. The guiding principles and parameters of each story are a direct function of their relevance and dynamism on the health and longevity of the community at large. Just as an Indigenous driven design process needs enterprise, continued stories need the interest of those guardians that carry those stories.

The stories behind buildings are always complex. If we consider that a whole lot of time, effort and lateral thinking that goes into simply negotiating the terms to which good negotiation and knowledge exchange in a project can occur in the first place, we can begin to imagine the vast amount of narratives that develop in one single project right through to its completion. This is the paradigm of complexity in architecture that involves human beings. We are an intricate species with very sophisticated ways of ex-changing knowledge and ways of doing. Indigenous community driven projects more than any, speak of complex narratives of creative exchange. How these narratives are actually appreciated as stories capable of developing architecture is another thing entirely. Are buildings that don’t speak of the stories of the people that conceived them just expensive pieces of chewing gum? Tasty at first, until they lose all flavour and are spat out and stuck to the feet of unwilling casualties of irrelevance?

04. Buildings make stories

Buildings without a common vision, become expen-sive places to tell stories in while it’s raining.

When done properly, architecture can make a pos-itive influence on communities. Take hunting for example. It is a physical thing capable of serving as a politically restorative activity through communica-tion, negotiation and exchange whilst doing, with the act of catching food being a given. Architecture has the ability to reach such usefulness. Bruce Lee once said that if we concentrate on the finger, we would miss all the heavenly glory. If we concentrate on ar-chitecture as the final outcome, we miss the universe of possibility and infinite connections it can

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generate from the initial explosion of pure collective intention. Architecture acting as an interpretative stage rather for generating more stories is far more interesting than turning buildings into shells for art historian’s trinkets. The power of living museums and interpre-tation centres such as Trawupeyum in Curarrehue, Chile is immeasurable. In Africa, at the Mapungubwe Interpretation Centre we see that you can design the building to tell stories in but how the stories are told can change. To focus on just the delight of curated sanitary boxes full of artifacts laid out like surgical tools in a hospital, is to distract ourselves from the stories of men and women whose culture still live outside the walls of the building.

What architecture can do and what it can’t do, as a mechanism for the continued stories of Indigenous communities is an interesting thought. How much of architectures influence on the restoration and realisation of the energy and materials from within a community is the building itself and how much is the process? It is a necessary question of architec-ture. Physically, the building itself can have many, generally unarguable positives. Space and architec-ture can dissolve hierarchy - who has access to nat-ural light? What opportunities are there for sporadic and unplanned interactions within space?

The beauty of architecture is that we can make physical manifestations of ideas and share them with people, to touch and experience. It can bring the im-plication of essence to the surface. Not everyone can decipher intention through architecture straight away but there will always be stories developed around it. For this to happen the ‘thing’ has to be there in the first place and such is the joy of architecture.

In Old Massett on Haida Gwaii, people talked about the shape of the Skidegate Primary School look-ing like a fish. In the cross-cultural design process of native and non-native inhabitants of Skidegate, feedback was given on the form and what it would represent. Despite this though, the physical presence of architecture usually transcends the bounds of its original intention. Here we see the power of archi-tecture in absorbing its role as a character in a story, capable of carrying the appropriation of meaning cross generationally. Many of the Mi’kmaq community of Pictou Landing in Nova Scotia that participated in the design and construct of the Pictou Landing Health Centre, had come from rough times. Including them in working

out the details of how to build the thing seems ob-vious in the restoration of the human spirit. Richard Kroeker took the time to explain where the building was coming from, the technology and the respect for the trees. It is this very narrative that we build into the process and the new ways of seeing and talking about architecture that is what speaks to peoples hearts and is carried forward by the building through future generations. Architecture of course can create negative sto-ries. As Douglas Cardinal says, “we can affect the behavior of electrons and the very building blocks of nature by our intentions. All universe is held to-gether by intention.” Then one must ask first, what kind of intention? If we affect the course of our lives and everything around us through our com-bined intention and the meaning embedded in our combined intention is manifested in the built form. Architecture then is capable of transferring negative intention. Do brutal people come from brutal cities? Where is mental illness coming from? Architecture created without people in mind is a dangerous path and a clear indication that we should be listening to cultures that do this by their nature in the creation of new design processes.

The potential of architecture to highlight cultural imperialism and certain methods of political control is vast. How do you tackle anything regarding design process, infrastructure and development when you’re constrained by a governance structure that is designed to favor the dominating party? What we are building in many Indigenous communities is essentially, image-objects as representations of the suppression of the creative spirit. It is one thing to know in your heart the attempted genocide on your reason for being, but to see it concretized in steel and stone is another thing entirely.

05. Carriers of Meaning

All my relations - brother and sisters.

You can’t call yourself a planner if you’re only planning for one species. Architecture constantly asks the earth to provide materials for buildings. The organisms or components of a building are part of that story, if we view its conception that way. The meaning they carry as living things is either trans-ferred positively through generations, purposeful in their teaching about ones survival, or they rot. It is not just in the materiality or composition of

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a building however where architecture can carry meaning. At Seabird Island School in Agassiz we see a classic example of the power the design process in carrying meaning beyond the duration of the proj-ect. Some people in the community carry the story of the building even though they weren’t part of the decision making process.

Often it is the design process, or the story of how things came to be and the connections between where its components come from that is the most important. If this process is honest and true, then the interpretation of its elements become specific by their nature. In most cases it is how we define mean-ing surrounding dynamic systems that is key. Some elders will talk about the changing landscape and mi-gratory patterns of fish and tell stories around that. For others this is climate changed framed differently. And so it is with design processes. If true to their purpose, the interpretation of meaning is subordi-nate to the overall collective intention that it was able to achieve.

The way that Saanich Junior High School has been built has a definite First Nations ‘look’ to it. Instead of shying away from tokenistic representations of culture in form, we need to sit and understand this phenomenon first. The ‘look’, it seems, is starting to affect the look of the structures around the com-munity. In this sense it is like a form of art. People are inspired by it and because it looks old it speaks of permanency. The influence of architecture in what it represents through form and the meaning it carries as an object is immeasurable sometimes. In architecture we’re reluctant to talk about shapes and forms because it seems too obvious or contrived. For a people living through the assassination of their identity, the meaning carried in the form of a build-ing and what it represents becomes hugely important provided the design process was inclusive. We aren’t at a stage yet where we can move beyond architec-tures role as a healer and into the role of amplifier of meaning, for progressive and flourishing cultural landscapes.

The need to tell new stories in new spaces is never more evident than in some Indigenous communities. The very skins of buildings can carry the echoes of horrifying memory, and are thereafter, forever poisoned. The effect of the residential school is still reverberating through most First Nations communi-ties and there are still lots of social ills because of it, such as drugs and alcoholism. The whole idea of any educational institution or form relating to education, whether it be culturally specific or not is a big mental

block for people. These stories from the past aren’t just stories they are embodied in the living people of today who were made to endure that catastrophe. There is no better time or need to develop new ways of thinking about architecture, about space and about education to transcend the recognizable forms of control that are forged into the very hearts of people. Architecture as a reminder of the ability to walk be-tween two worlds can sometimes have worth as well.The cultural value of the ruka in southern Chile is integral to worldview but now, since the tourist board has formalized it, the form expresses com-mercial success. In other cases, it isn’t in the formal manifestation of meaning that is paramount for cultural strengthening. In Osoyoos, British Columbia the form of the Nk’mip Desert Cultural Centre and the meaning it carried as a building wasn’t so much what the elders were concerned about. It was more about what can and can’t be shown inside, the stories told and how they are delivered that was essential.

In Iquique we hear the story of Ernesto Monroy who owned the farm that is now Quinta Monroy. He let people build whatever house they needed resulting in a full community and theatre. There we see that the site or the landscape already has a spirit of autonomy and resilience. Just as land can be a mediator between worldviews it can also act like a book of stories, that if one listens properly, they can hear. One can imagine then that if these stories are dark in any way and the land is poisoned, these sto-ries may carry through into the embodied meaning of the projects placed upon them. In the case of Quinta Monroy it was the opposite. The land, that is rooted in a spirit of generosity, respect and gratitude, creates healthy stories that create healthy sociocultur-al settings and in turn, healthy people.

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Seabird Island School . Agassiz

Iquique . Chile

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01. Return to innocence

The San Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert in Botswana currently face a dilemma. After being rel-egated to the fringes of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve, the community, having now won a land claim to return to their rightful lands, must decide on not only whether to go back, but whether it is indeed even possible to do so. The Basarwa people, historically relocated to the Kalahari many years ago from the north during inter tribal warfare, are, in a way, double victims of colonization.

They’re currently not living like their ancestors did, so how does one transition back to something remotely similar? There needs to be a concrete plan of that transition back to a tradition lifestyle. The influence of architecture and the principles driving architectural practice, do have relevance here, despite their not being a brief for a physical structure. The Indigenous driven design process, needs to address this dilemma of a return to innocence. How does one design sociocultural landscapes that eventuate in tradition without manufacturing it?

Perhaps, no one can ever literally go back and per-haps this isn’t the point. Can we return to psycho-logical landscapes of creative capital without shifting back to the geographical origins to which the worldview is intrinsically linked? For now, we must aim for an over riding amount of Indigeneity among a unified, self reliant people that respect and their current environment. How can architecture help achieve that vision?

Furthermore, how much of this return to innocence is the longing of the external agency and how much is in the hearts of the people themselves? Is to create an Indigenous driven design process and restore or repair a broken worldview, too romantic in its muse-umization of value systems and modes of knowl-edge exchange? What we’re seeing now in Canada

and Australia is many Indigenous people carrying simultaneous identities, which immediately changes the definition of said value systems and modes of knowledge exchange by the very introduction of a second cultural influence. Perhaps it isn’t a question of going back, but going forward. 02. Hierarchy of Indigeneity

What is Indigenous? Some of the other tribes around the Kalahari weren’t recognized as Indige-nous in the land claim cases. Internal discussions of levels of Indigeneity are important for the creation of healthy and respectful sociocultural landscapes. There are many other tribes become disadvantaged when we put the ‘most’ Indigenous on a pedestal, even if it is well intentioned by the external agency. If we isolate one tribe from another as the ‘most’ disadvantaged what kind of sociocultural setting arises? We see the scattering of strength in the social networks between nations become severed also. You could go back and prove the history of who was the ‘most’ first inhabitants but how does that make peo-ple feel and what are the reactions to those feelings?

For the Haida people of Haida Gwaii, it is an im-portant discussion about family and mixed cultural background. We need more transparency around the difficulties of needing to position oneself and way of thinking by some kind of tangible anchor. With-out knowing what we are or where we come from, it is difficult to respect the ancestry of others, who do.

Most of the tribes in British Columbia say you have to have at least a quarter native blood to be a tribal member. If there is more than two non-natives in a row then you lose your tribal status. What are the actual realities of losing Indigeneity through genetics and what is its relationship to losing culture? How much of culture is a function of blood and how much is this is a function of worldview? Creating dialogue around some of these issues is important in recognizing the relevance of an Indigenous driven design process. Perhaps in a modern world, Indig-enous worldview will partly become a function of how we treat each other and the earth, independent of ancestral heritage or blood type. As the anglophile colony of Australia, faces a second wave of colonialism from Asia, there emerges a healthy landscape of reflection of the arrogance it takes to have dominated and marginalized a tra-ditional culture for so long. There is money to be made in development and this will be instrumental in shaping future architectural processes. Are First

INDIGENOUS TO WHERE?

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Colonists then considered Indigenous to the newer foreign immigrants? Does a colonizing culture have the right to Indigeneity or is that right forfeited upon stepping on the ship? These hierarchies of Indigeneity are important in the balance of respect and humility among population groups, which in turn determines the feasibility of sharing new ways of thinking and the development of an Indigenous driven design process. 03. Awareness

Acknowledgement of an Indigenous presence in South Africa is only relatively recent, around the late 1970s. In New York we are till seeing First Nations cultural displays placed in the Natural History Muse-um next to the evolution of homo sapiens and flora and fauna. We have a lot of growing up to do to move past the idea that traditional cultures are to be visited in textbooks and stories. While we remain blissfully unaware of the infinite creative capacity of Indigenous groups, third world countries are trying desperately to protect their ethnicity and keep their culture alive, let alone their cultural relevance to others. And why do first world countries call them developing? Developing to go where? The overriding purpose of many Indigenous cultures is to love and respect the earth to which we all belong, for the purpose of existing indefinitely. What is the developed world doing to achieve this? If we can’t answer this, we may prove the immediate importance of an Indigenous driven design process.

04. Brave new contemporary Indigenous world In talking with Michael Hooper from GSD Har-vard, we hear his experiences in Kenya and realize the settler, British colonial history in Canada and Australia is still so new. In Kenya most consider themselves from the hinterland even though they are living in the cities. No one would ever say they were Nairobian as the city was for settlers whom one would visit to work or stay. Now you’re seeing Indigenous people growing up in the city saying, I’m from Nairobi. It will be interesting to watch how this identity and transformation of cultural values and Indigenous ways of thinking transforms and evolves in a contemporary city context. The amount of complications Indigenous commu-nities face in the contemporary context is directly proportional to how we understand architecture and indeed the design process. Before one can talk

about creative negotiation of ideas and internal decision-making in architectural projects we need to understand the priorities for those embroiled in this transition. In Huechuraba, Santiago a woman called Iris Llaguen says that when she tells people she lives in the Vivienda Social Mapuche houses, peoples attitude changes like it is a bad place. It is upsetting to the core of ones existence to feel that a journey closer to truth and identity actually widens the gap between cultures. For contemporary, largely ho-mogenized cultures, people are so used to being creatively colonized and told what to do through the power and control of blanket regulation that when an Indigenous driven design process results in a new typology, it is too confronting for the dominant cultural identity. We need to address this reaction for an Indigenous driven design process to have real impact in the dominant societies of our country. The visions of those juggling the middle ground between worldviews can’t grow if they’re kept in the shade.

Identity and purpose are the backbone of creative liberation and cultural strength. For many First Na-tions communities we’re seeing a disconnection from the word Indian and a search for new ways of de-scribing ones identity. How much of this is import-ant to only the outside culture wishing to interact, is another story. For many people it is easier to use the English term for a collective but within a commu-nity the representation of ones identity may be very different. In reality in language many people call themselves by their tribe name. Therefore it is safe to assume that cultural positioning can be retained within a community and not have to be shared or and recognized by external worldviews.

When identity is lost within the circle as well as out-side, we start to see the real affects of colonization and mass assimilation. There are common threads al-most amongst all contemporary Indigenous societies facing this paradigm. Llaguepulli, in southern Chile is no longer remote. People living closer to Temuco are losing their culture and language much faster and the same goes for the Basarwa of the Kalahari. With modern methods of education and synthetic med-icines, a lot of the valuable knowledge of an entire people is being lost, like dust on the wind.

Africa is an interesting case in the reestablishment of identity between traditional and contemporary settings. In the past the ‘struggle’ has been used as an abstracted concept for design and despite the integral nature of its existence, in some respects has

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become a vehicle for the relief of guilt. However does the attention on the struggle perpetuate the character of the struggle itself ? Contemporary South African youth aren’t interested so much in the struggle anymore, they are interested in the tomor-row. They are looking forward at what the struggle gave birth to, such as new forms of music. It is a much healthier existence than living in the shadow of a cultural holocaust all of the time.

05. Lost Boys

It was the same people that colonized Australia and New Zealand, that colonized Canada. Can the lin-eage of those tied to the colonizing bloodline answer any questions regarding their ancestry or culture? If not, are we not then lost? Part of the unrecognized potential of an Aboriginal worldview deeply rooted in its connection to its past and its future, is the lack of appreciation for one’s own ancestry at all.

Again Michael Hooper reminds us of the distinctly juxtaposed cultural faces of Kenya. Some people are as ‘Indigenous’ as they were many years ago, while being more ‘English’ than you thought one could be. The stark contrasts and idiosyncrasies of people caught between traditional and contemporary soci-eties are testimony to great variance in worldview. It seems remarkably unintelligent not to notice this as being valuable to architecture or design professions, in a way that goes far beyond tokenism.

Michael notes that in the States you have to be to some degree consistent in your identity and not nec-essarily juxtaposed with the values of more than one culture. Sometimes you’ll see Kenyan leaders that are wild anglophiles or Quebecois leaders who are rabid anglophiles and speak in posh British accents. It begs this perpetual question of the future; Indigenous to where?

Nicola Valley Institute of Technology . Merritt

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01. Physics

Physics is the middle ground between polarized cultures and the things they produce. Technology through innovations is founded on the same prin-ciples regardless of its materiality or age. It is the thought processes that lead us to this point that we are primarily concerned with.

Richard Kroeker’s investigations into the physical ca-pabilities of materials and their dynamic active forc-es has lit a fire in the heart of a mutually respectful and inclusive cross-cultural design process. Consider the Mi’kmaq view of a tree that is composed of a bundle of fibers working in tension and contrast it to traditional understandings of wood as cheese to be carved out of. Or the methodology behind long-house lashing and overlapping cladding, capable of opening to the outside. Is this not a venetian blind? The same sophisticated understanding of technology that allows the supporting glass to hang off the bow trusses or columns in the Squamish Lil’Wat Cultural Centre, is the same process of deductive reasoning behind the cedar lashing in cedar panel houses. It is not the architectural outcome each of these exam-ples we are concerned with but the prioritization of physics in the design process.

Richard came from the British hi-tech in London. A world of stainless steel, glass, lots of gaskets all tightly conceived buildings with no slack. The process of understanding ‘how things work’ will result in the sharp expression of buildings that look like they are working, in terms of their structure or environmental systems. The constructed thing is giv-en integrity and not reduced to a reference to some other period of architecture or abstracted statement. Design processes based in physics produce buildings and objects not masquerading as anything. They are what they are. Beautiful and expressive in their ability to communicate their perpetual workload. Hard-working buildings are inspiring. They remind us of

BRITISH HI-TECH

the ingenuity conceived to articulate them, and the constant reminder that all things, in the rhythm of life, are indeed continually working. You feel in your body the actions that the building is performing. The experience of the building, on a subliminal level is one of forces. When one combines the contemporary understand-ing of physics and its influence in the design process and acknowledges Indigenous ways of knowing and doing, one finds it is the same play with different ac-tors. Indigenous lodges, snow shoes and canoes are packed with technology. There is no room for empty frivolity or delight, although in the end the aesthetic of it is very powerful, where the meaning is legible through its function. European hi-tech owes a lot to Indigenous culture all over the world. Shell construc-tion, tensile structures – A lot of these methods and principles of creating architecture comes Indigenous cultures. From Africa to Middle East, the under-standing of cooling and heating buildings has influ-enced modern design processes and built outcomes. It could be argued that Modernism has arisen on the backs of a lot of these Indigenous technologies and knowledge.

Alfred Waugh, an Indigenous architect from Vancouver, is also from a technical and rigorous background that treats buildings as organisms. Underneath all of this is this innate understanding that design process that work with the complicat-ed physics of nature through the responsible use of technology create healthier design processes regardless of cultural background, simply due to the unarguable properties of the environment and the basic laws of physics.

In discovering an Indigenous driven design process, is the Western world capable of returning to the mentality behind what the majority may consider, a more primal way of living. Perhaps there will be certain people that do not have the intellectual ca-pacity to go beyond the façade of what is considered ‘primal’ and miss the point that some aspects of so called ‘primal living’ are being rooted in deeply in a sophisticated understanding of materiality, physics and resourcefulness. Just as it is easier to cover up bad design processes with one token photograph, it is easy to cover up a lack of understanding of the fundamental forces that shape our world, with cheap boxes as architec-ture. We confuse the complexity of manufacturing a material with the complexity of what the material can do on its own. One would think that the

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sophisticated understanding of a materials technical capacity before it has been manipulated would be a revered and highly sought after benefit of listening to Indigenous ways of knowing. 02. Appropriation of technology

Albert Marshall, an important Mi’kmaq elder from Eskasoni Reserve in northern Nova Scotia, jokes momentarily about his Aboriginal decor missing an abandoned car wreck on his front lawn. What is underneath this jest is a very integral component to an Indigenous driven design process. The first thing people do in Nova Scotia is salvage the hood of the car. It can be used to shovel snow because of its shape. If someone uses a designed object in the way that it wasn’t supposed to be designed, is it wrong? In other words, is an ‘undesign’ process equal to that of the design?

The appropriation of technology resonates amongst most First Nations groups. In one Aboriginal community in Canada, Michael Hooper recalls the story of young men hunting with hellebore on the tips of their 22 caliber bullets, just as it would have been used for the tips of arrows. There are amazing possibilities in the tension between two worldviews and ways of approaching design. In Chile, we see Indigenous people, after resisting Spanish invasion for three hundred years, become masters at adopting and adapting the tools of the Western world and know that they can in fact be used for strengthening the Mapuche culture. This juxtaposition of cultures through function is so interesting and unemotional it almost transcend cultural indifference

On materiality Albert asks the question of exploita-tion. What is around you and how resourceful do you claim to be? To complete the cycle of a mate-rials existence it must have life after its use. It must have many uses. But perfecting the techniques of architecture and meeting dwelling needs through softening an ecological footprint in the modern day is a difficult opportunity. As a poor person how does one navigate all this?

Under the crippling cultural hegemony and the even-tual pressures of the Western worldview on genera-tions of Indigenous people made to wander soulless between worlds, the appropriation of technology has a certain limit. Unless true equality is ever found between native and non-native we won’t know what the appropriation of technology can really achieve.

03. Digital Age

Digital tools play a large role in the creative indepen-dence of Indigenous people the world over. In the inception of the idea for a Museum of Civilization in Ottawa, Canada, president Trudeau looked to Indigenous architect Douglas Cardinal, who had spent the majority of his young career developing the technology and tools to create architecture from within the values of his worldview. He had the tech-nology surrounding him and hence had the power of access to tools.

This dialogue between technology and shaman is intriguing and a testimony to the transcendent po-tential of architecture based in the shadowy middle ground between traditional and contemporary worl-dviews. We can’t afford to associate the digital age with a loss of Indigenous identity. We need technol-ogy to clean up the earth now and technology offers tools that can be used to build new futures.

Technology used for the revival of language is obvi-ous and exemplified best by the work of John Elliott and his father Dave Elliott in the resurrection of the Saanich people’s language. After the creation of a new alphabet designed from within Indigenous worl-dview, the next influential step became bringing this alphabet and language into the digital age. They took a letter to the Consortium of Unicode and asked to include the alphabet in there. It was accepted and now anytime a new phone or piece of software is developed the Sencoten language is embedded in there. The repercussions of this act of internally driven process are astronomical. Now the commu-nity is able to text and Facebook each other in their native language designed by their people.

The digital language tool for communication as used in the realm of the design process could be hugely influential. If the elders can express their views on education as verb based learning centered around the interconnectedness of stories - in outdoor settings during summer and spring - imagine how we could deconstruct our understanding of teach-ing and learning. The elders need an outlet for that voice, and the digital world could offer this kind of peaceful agonistic landscape for knowledge sharing. 04. Existential

The response by most architects is to interpret and represent architectural form. Conversely, in the pur-suit of honesty through technology and the physics of dynamic forces and materiality is the triangulating

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entity between the past and the present. How some-thing works is a function of how we work, since it is the mechanisms of our minds that design and the mechanisms of our body that builds. So design processes based around technological functionality actually transcend cultural differences or time, like nature does and in turn develop more meaning-ful spaces full of firmness and commodity. The delight as mentioned is in their functionality and our subconscious, anthropomorphic relationship with movement and force.

Can architecture engage in sophisticated ways of knowing, as if it were as tangible as technology? Douglas tells a story of the Russians owning better fiber optics cables. As the architect he had to go to Checkpoint Charlie to get the technology. In doing so he thought; ‘why are we limited by an iron cur-tain?’ How far can you take this mentality that one culture has something more sophisticated than the other? And what if this thing weren’t physical or an object you could see, but rather a way of seeing or a way of doing? Could we consider that worthy of understanding?

In the design process of the Saanich Junior High School the architects looked to the old long houses in village sites for technological understanding of this vernacular. It is essentially useful but also the path of least resistance in creative negotiation prac-tices or participatory design exercises cross culturally, to default to technologies and physical materials. In regards to thinking outside the confines of what we consider space in schools or the dimensions of space or the ratio of outside and inside, we are yet to progress along these more existential forms of cross-cultural design process yet.

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PHOTO

Ruka . Llaguepulli

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01. Intention

Need is a function of intention. The concept of a hierarchy of needs in some respects is simplistic, especially in the context of Indigenous communi-ties that are trying to stabilize a collective vision, before the choice of what one needs become real or specific.

Vision is the most important part. How do you man-ifest vision into reality? What programs are required to bring this vision into reality? Visions require people and people need space to develop a creative thoughts. Architecture has a role to play in creating the landscape for collective-need and individual-need to both occur naturally, regardless of whether it fits into a hierarchy of need or any other system.

Typically, most bureaucrats will be against something that breaks out of a system. A true collective need based in a vision has the ability to define how many elements in an established bureaucratic system may be obsolete. That is to say, to define how organisms in a system are dysfunctional is to build the foun-dations for the unknown that can generate a vision capable of carrying pure intention and satisfying the actual needs of people.

For Douglas Cardinal, the investigation for the design of a college found that there was was a twenty-two year lag time between standards given to architects that designed schools and what was in the classroom. That is a whole generation operating under irrelevant notions of knowledge exchange. To base the needs of students in systems of education in a static vision, is to deny even the minutest chance of cultural and contextual appropriateness. In the college project, it took a while for government to accept to break up standards according to what was actually needed. This is a critical point for a world-view, or meeting of two worldviews that are capable of influencing a hegemonic system of control,

HIERARCHY OF WHOSE NEEDS?

through a diligent process of defining the intention, function and needs of each component or organism. Here we see a progressive design process that isn’t just designing the thing or the form but defining the parameters of need for which the form may grow out of. When identifying need from intention one should not be talking to somebodies head, but rather they should be talking to their heart.

02. Asking questions

It is not the act of asking questions so much as it is the ‘types’ of questions themselves that are, in question. At a seminar on community engagement at the University of Cape Town, with Barbara Schmidt, Tanja Winkler and Aditya Kumar, we hear a common mistake in the identification of need in Indigenous communities. What is a person to say, that doesn’t even have a roof over their head to a question such as ‘how does climate change impact you?’ It is a common community researcher par-adigm that needs to be addressed in the topic of design processes. We need to be conscious of who is asking the questions, what worldview the question is based in and who has been chosen to answer the question, if we are to get close to extracting ‘needs’ from a collective community conscious that are useful and truthful in nature.

Does the community need these questions of need and who is benefitting from the questions?In a South African township where municipality isn’t doing any real planning and there is no structure or strategy for the overall health of a community due to dislocation or disruption, the question of need be-comes less relevant, since the isolation of individual need from collective vision just exacerbates dysfunc-tion. How then does one identify need when there is no structure? One starts with the main themes of the community and being the negotiation and ex-change of knowledge, so that collective strengthened vision may emerge.

Blanket questions of what someone needs never work. An Indigenous driven design process means either introducing an external catalyst such as an architect or finding an internal source, to act inde-pendently from politics, identify peoples natural propensity for a skill or vision, and communicate it back to the community. From this stable point of reference the human psyche can begin to identify need based on purpose, and indeed the collective need based on the collective purpose.

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It is often the case in participatory processes in First Nations groups that one must earn trust. One may not go in asking, ‘what is important to you’ or ‘what do you need or want for this project’, but perhaps they’re asking ‘what’s important to someone, generally, in life.’ You’re beginning a conversation and begin to see, in the deepest sense of the world, how other people see.

In London we encounter Dominic Cullinan who speaks of Cabalgorithms and the need to create a structural framework around questions of need. As a catalyst for this type of question and answer process one must find ways to also describe people’s points of exit from the investigation. It would be dissuasive to begin if there were no possible exists. The idea is that people at the beginning build a capacity of value or a value system that is exchangeable like all value systems. Not a value system based entirely on money. Based on realizations of needs that those people have.

03. Misinterpreting need

What do we make of this paradigm of the architect. Knowing what somebody needs better than they do because they just can’t imagine it like you can. In well-organized and healthy sociocultural landscapes where the collective vision is strong, people know exactly what they need. They don’t need a high rise they need something that will work and it is the role of the architect to find beauty in this pure function. And even still, if it is structurally beautiful does it work, in all senses of the word work? Generally speaking, if something is useful and makes life easier of course people need it and will use it, unless they are a martyr.

In a Western sense, needs, as a generalization, may remain more constant and evolve in larger cycles, most likely due to the control of our influences through media. The needs of an Indigenous com-munity can change overnight. For the Yukon Trail Project, all the energy put into developing a narra-tive and vision around it was put to rest overnight due to inert issues in the community and shifting focus of the community. The challenge is not only for designers and architects to stay on top of this shifting ground so as to not museumize need, but also for communities to understand the needs of the external agency. Half the challenge is that people don’t understand what design actually entails. This perception of image based architecture and sculp-tural wastes-of-money needs to be broken down and the communication of architecture as a way of

amplifying the decision making potentials of a collective, be recognized. It is very hard to explain the value that lies within that process of healing, ownership and real community development.

One must know what they perceive as an asset before asking anyone else or we risk misinterpreting their need through the distorted lens of our own worldview. In many Indigenous communities around the world access to land is paramount, there is no doubt. What does the Western culture perceive as asset?

04. Collective vs. Individual need

There is a difference between the hierarchy of needs for the collective and that of the smaller hierarchies of need inside it. The two aren’t mutually exclusive and often will influence each other. For instance, a project may present an opportunity for some mem-bers of the community to participate and develop capacity. The role of the architect is to identify this vision and translate it with the community into something durable, well made and inexpensive to op-erate. How the project responds to the needs of the people immediately involved and how it responds to the generational needs of a society generally is the difference. What relationships does it create in its presence and can be expanded on? The success of this is the difference between an established building committee and or an established society. The idea of smaller groups of need inside larger is particularly relevant in Indigenous driven design processes. In the Alexandra Township in Johannes-burg, an art project was run for local artists, some with skill and some without. It isn’t the role of the catalyst to discriminate skill but one must broker a situation in an equal way so that it is representa-tive without compromising. The ownership of the process relies on small teams or groups of skills that essentially mirror the way people usually congregate anyway. People can connect to the greater intention or vision when banded together in smaller groups with visions unto themselves. A common theme in Indigenous driven processes is that the collective needs of a people aren’t decided along a line that eventuates to a point of realisation. It is more like a constellation of thoughts and cre-ative negotiations that take place over long periods of time. The tourism ideas in Llaguepulli, Chile, for instance, are long term conversations within the community. As Ignacio Krell discusses, ‘It would be rare for someone to get an idea from the Internet for

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instance or from visiting tourists’ and work that idea up based on individual intention or need. People are reluctant to do so because it isn’t the Mapuche way or in the timeframe. Dreaming is an important part of the Mapuche cul-ture and to ones individual emotional and physical state but this does not translate into the business or professional world. Self actualization then, is an obscure concept. It’s not that this entrepreneur doesn’t apply to Indigenous communities generally but in Llaguepulli village it is obscure for Mapuche to adopt such individualism. It’s not because there is a lack of creativity or lack of wanting produce anything, it’s just that this sort of strong sense of community and to respect what was taught. Is the liberation of the creative spirit specifically individual or is there such a thing as collective creative libera-tion?

05. The difference

In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs the Western ideals of self-actualization drives much of the participato-ry practices, that draws on model making and ones dream home or arrangement of space. There is a need for Indigenous nations to communicate differ-ent hierarchies of need, even if they are shifting and varied. What if the top of Maslow’s triangle was the collective intellectual health of a community or food or family?For the Mapuche of Llaguepulli, we can say, thanks to research of Alison Guzman, Ignacio Krell, Nadia Painefil and their team that the top of Maslow’s triangle would start objectively start with access to land first, then housing and drinking water, cultural strengthening and food and health. These are the main priorities for the community right now.

Dianna Kay of Seabird Island Band spoke wisdom when she said that, ‘you can fit Western culture into Aboriginal society but you cant fit Aboriginal culture into Western society.’ Once Indigenous worldview goes into Western culture it’s like a paper clip all de-constructed. The dominant culture tries to straighten things out and make things linear but it will never be truly straight unless you force it to be straight. That’s what the government tried to do with residential schools and banning all the pot latch laws. What does the Western world make of the First Nation reality of purification rights, ceremonies and vision quests and how does this fit into traditional catholic law? One could be forgiven to not hand over a list of

needs to those whose hands, up until relatively recently were tightened around your throat. As John Elliott reminds us, the old kings made promises to the people that First Nations would have rights and when they repatriated the constitution of Canada they tried to throw all that out. The Douglas Treaty from 1852 still exists today and people spend most of the time in court having this treaty acknowledged. When we come in as designers and architects with our frames of references of established needs, we inherently place shelter and self-actualization togeth-er at the pointy end of the triangle. We are abruptly met by the realisation that there are more important things at hand for people such as being recognized as people at all.

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PHOTO

Boat to Hesquiaht . British Columbia

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01. Alchemy and architects

What is sacred and what is shared? The repercus-sions of this question in architectural discourse is particularly important in discovering an Indigenous driven design process. The alchemy, or that which is held secret, of the architect has been particularly diluted in recent times, simply as a function of math-ematics. As the number of architects increases, the potential for harm by those less inclined to listen, is greater and hence the call to action for architects to be more transparent and share at least in principle, their working process with participants in communi-ty driven development.

In any discussion that surrounds the evolution of a new type of architect emerging from Indigenous worldview, it seems appropriate to discuss some of the paradigms of the current model. Right now there is this insecurity among architects toward the loss of alchemy from the profession. Michael Hooper at GSD Harvard, is right when he identifies that many other professions don’t seem to be phased by participatory practices. ‘The public is allowed to have incredible discretion over their preceding’s in court, but lawyers don’t feel as though they should never have gone to law school. Likewise, one often has options to choose a type of surgery but doctors don’t give up and say ‘I may as well not be in this job’. It is a fake tension in the discussion of partici-pation between the expert and the client that needs addressing.

In keeping ones alchemy then, how does one establish an intention based in pure reality without suppressing the flexibility or potential evolution of that intention by the client? Both catalysts and com-munities need to develop the same level of respect and appreciation of alchemy and secrecy one would have for a doctor, and for health generally, but with the exception of not needing to be ‘fixed.’ In other words, there needs to be a proactive, continuous bal

ALCHEMY & TRANSPARENCY

ance of transparency through humility and respect through alchemy in the architectural profession.The means we use to communicate architectural in-tention such as plan, section and elevation is a secret coded language that we share within in the industry but the public doesn’t understand. So how do you communicate intention from an Indigenous world-view? Scaled models belong to one worldview only and exist as purposeful abstracted representations of reality. Some cultures may be more literal and the substance and essence of a material cannot be sepa-rated, swapped or abstracted. For instance, to choose to represent ones intention with a balsa model, is to purposefully introduce timber into the story of the building, no matter its scale or abstraction as a com-munication device and such is the reality of vastly in-congruent worldviews. This is only a ‘problem’ if the hegemonic creative force is unwilling to step away from the well-established alchemy of model making as the primary tool of communicating intention into something more unknown. What would happen if one were to build the mold for one brick at one to one scale instead?

Confusion in any community driven participatory process is the weak understanding between both par-ties of whether it is idea that must come from within the community, the actual designing, or indeed both? Right now we’re at a stage in Australia where we’re still picking up the pieces from cultural warfare against Indigenous communities who have been caught in a viscous cycle of being half taught things, on account of imperialistic governance models and training organizations benefiting from holes in the education system. To expect new definitions of designers and architects to emerge from within such a cloud of destructive alchemy for most external cat-alysts would be a stretch. Now we need to focus on the development of an idea, or a functional set of parameters toward how a sociocultural setting may look, that would foster the eventual beginnings of an Indigenous driven design process.

At GSD Harvard, Michael Hooper recalls a time that they took students to the poorest community in Bos-ton to work on a project. The students went in inse-cure, offering ideas and solutions from the moment they landed. Understandably the community was immediately against them. They returned to school wounded and complained that the community didn’t recognize their role as designers. After reflecting on poor practice, the students returned and began a process of listening and asking questions and after some time, the community asked for their profes-sional advice. The moral here is that, if an

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external catalyst is being brought in for the purpose of design or planning then the community has to be comfortable with the intentions of the external agencies presence. It isn’t not about the architect giving up their design agency. Ultimately the final projects were just manifestations of the students design thinking, which is in some ways useless to the community, but at least not worse-than-useless. In reality, with more time, and preferably with Indige-nous operated design and architecture schools, the role of the architect as professional listener first and craftsperson second will develop and it will be the transparency of intention that communicated loud-est to the community.

02. Internal transparency

Transparency between tribes for the benefit of col-lective alchemy is best exemplified at the Squamish Lil’Wat Cultural Centre that endured a seven-year de-sign process of negotiation between the Lil’wat and Squamish First Nations. The idea was rather than create a cultural centre that contrasted two distinct nations and identities the two would be stronger working together. To steer everyone into a common vision is a challenge for the architect, especially given the internal transparency between Nations was purposefully never established prior to the project. Curating business plans and financial liabilities, cul-tural experts and other agencies is complicated in the cohesive manifestation of this collective vision.

In Llaguepulli we see another example of internal transparency in an Indigenous context. There are finance, astrology, tourism, school other experts that come together in the decision making process. The council which involves the hereditary lonco, the president of the community and the president of the tourism committee work together with an advisor who is a doctor and a teacher at the business school. This teacher has a background in microfinance in community based decision-making process. It truly is a collaboration of agency with their external advisors and the key community leaders and their advisors. It is the transparency of characters and their back-grounds in this Indigenous driven decision making mechanism, not the precise contents or outcomes of the constellations of interactions. The system is built on respect and humility and in combining this internal transparency with the alchemy of contem-porary ways of thinking and traditional knowledge all can maintain a healthy balance of cultural identity. Through reflection, we remain satisfied and stimu-lated by the forces that guide our purpose under

neath our worldview while allowing free flowing passages of information to occur. The political leadership of Aboriginal in Canada is also quite well organized but doesn’t necessarily equate to healthy environments on the ground. Does the transparency of leadership as a function of com-munity mobilization need to be addressed as part of a broader cross-cultural circuitous discussion?

A less functional example may be the co-manage-ment strategy of the Makuleke people and SAN-Parks South Africa. On paper the facade of equality is maintained but the reality of cultural hegemony is clear. Without consultation some definitions and responsibilities of the roles were changed and the Indigenous Makuleke were silently powerless under the cloak of ‘co-management’. Invisible cultural imperialism is even harder to destroy. It is worse than blatant dictatorships. How can you oppose that which you cannot see? The unfortunate reality of Australia’s current apartheid is one such example. With life expectancy decreasing and a second wave of stolen generation upon us, the wispy ghost of this cultural hegemony is upon us and grasping at it is like fire smoke to a stiff wind. Transparency of governance and operational decisions in areas of cross-cultural management is paramount in main-taining truth and equality. There is no room for alchemy here.

03. Language as transparency

The shadowy middle ground between incongruent cultures can be a direct shortcut to the truth.Sometimes when one can only speak ten words of a language, the holes of one’s armor appear. This can be enough to connect on a level, usually through humor, that transcends the sum of either person’s differences. Here in this hazy impressionist landscape of handicapped verbal communication, more respect and alchemy is instilled in the cul-turally dominated party. That is to say, sometimes when cultures accustomed to expressing themselves with many words are relegated to sign language and bodily intuition we can appreciate and rationalize the beauty of a culture.

Using language as a way of manufacturing transpar-ent and alternate realities to strengthen respect and alchemy among people is a powerful tool for creative negotiation. The use of narrative and stories in portraying such alternative realities for processes and projects is underutilized. A story is a way of know-ing and being and hence we should be telling stories

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before the brief of a project is developed. What story do you want to tell? Perhaps part of a design-er’s job is to extract possibilities and use narrative to project these realities, orally. Framing ceremony around these language based visions is far closer to a progressive Indigenous driven design process than any other appropriation of current methods. 04. Cultural alchemy

The concept of cultural alchemy is extremely im-portant in the discussion of an Indigenous driven design process. What is shared and what is held sa-cred are fundamental realities of cultural health. Not only is the restriction of knowledge or transparency of knowledge in cross-cultural exchange significant, it is crucial for internal sociocultural exchange and pathways of conceiving alternative creative and tan-gible futures. One may not be ready or able to take on the responsibility of a design or architect role or engage in the negotiation of intellectual capital with an agency or catalyst, if it isn’t culturally appropriate or within their place in the community. It may be dif-ficult for outsider architects to create purposeful and truthful design decisions if they haven’t got the key to some crucial aspects of culture. There is no right answer here, only compassion, respect and humility.

The discussion around cultural alchemy is often brought back to ethno tourism; such is the nature of our changing world. It is important to understand the principles behind some of these difficult deci-sions that Indigenous communities face in regards to the level of interaction or cross-over between worldviews. Alanna Quock articulates the hesitance of people on the Yukon community trail develop-ment projectOne twelve year old girl stood up and expressed her concern for having other people on trails for tourists.As the external agency one must balance education and extraction of opinion very delicately. The trail may offer a chance for traditional trade routes to be reestablished but should that be shared with strang-ers? Where is the line between new architectures of the trail capable of facilitating new meaning and are physically and culturally restorative and the intro-duction of the mechanism for cultural transparency whereby the tourism dilutes or abstracts the sacred purpose of the trail from its original function?

In Haida Gwaii, on account of the destruction of the south from uninvited small pox, Captain Gold realized that to preserve what was culturally import-ant one must find ways to communicate it in a lan

guage the dominating cultural force may understand. That is to say, to preserve the cultural alchemy and environment to which the Haida worldview belongs, he had to know exactly what was there. He set about documenting plant species and studied their properties. What’s interesting here is the process of not forgoing cultural intention or the spiritual and intellectual knowledge surrounding the plants, but by leaving that alchemy to the Indigenous people within the community he can generate more transparency between the two worldviews. One must find ways to deliver essences over facts.

05. Architecture as transparency

To bring a vision into reality one must be honest to their word. A vision can start with a word.

The success of a piece of architecture lies in its abil-ity to communicate to collective vision that enabled its existence. To make the Museum of Civilization it took ten thousand peoples involvement from start to finish. How the architecture communicates these enormous achievements by the hands and minds of many is integral to its ability to inspire more collec-tive efforts. Truthful architecture is good architec-ture, but the transparency of human interaction as recorded in the very bricks and mortar is even better.

The deconstruction of over two hundred years of separation between Squamish and Lil’wat Nations was achieved both psychologically and physically as the architectural expression is used as a vehicle for literal transparency through glass. The interesting thing here isn’t the metaphor through materiality but perhaps the almost counter intuitive requirement for Indigenous communities to find new landscapes of exchange to strengthen and reorganize so that their diversity and uniqueness can be restored.

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PHOTO

Richard Kroeker & Murdena & Albert Marshall . Eskasoni Reserve

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01. The Champion

It can take one person to change a whole society.

When we delve into history it’s always individuals that leap of the edge of the known and find new knowledge. The power of the champion or the individual in the collective is a necessary point of interest in the discussion of Indigenous driven development. Often in the simplified perception of circular societies of collective negotiation, we can look past the individual. One may argue that it is the worldview that has come to consume Indigenous societies that is teeming with prolific individualism, but there the distinction lies firmly in intention.

It takes a champion, to stand out and say, ‘this is way we’ve been shown is the way and its what we’ve been doing for years but there is another way.’ Then for the collective to stand up and say, ‘this person is speaking wisdom and their intention is pure and maybe we should listen.’ Here we may begin to look at changing the paradigms of our community and re-establishing the connection to each other and to the land. This act of courage is a rare occurrence indeed. Usually, just as money speaks, so to does the loudest voice and those that speak loud usually speak often and can perpetuate disorder in the decision-making potentials of Indigenous communities.

Everything evidently comes back to having well respected leaders that everyone has confidence in to represent the visions and intentions of the people. It’s as simple that. One man, Mauricio, a leader from Llaguepulli decided that the revival of the ruka would strengthen culture and generate enterprise. Now many families in the south of Chile run suc-cessful ethnotourism businesses. Or Phillip, a man from Saanich First Nation who kicked an agent from Indian Affairs all the way back to his car, in protest of the broken trailer classrooms the government had deemed appropriate learning environments

LEADER and Unity Dow from Botswana, who is progressing Indigenous culture through outdoor theatre, music and dance. All of these people and tens of thou-sands more, help, shape, save and progress Indige-nous cultures positively and effectively through good leadership. Listening to John Elliott frame what he has managed to achieve with his father in a humble way was a profound reminder of the spirit of good leaders. He said, ‘I’ve managed to get a bit done in my lifetime’. It is suffice to say that by most people’s standards this is a surreal understatement. We see that many Indigenous leaders have this inherent way of con-sidering their lifetime on a scale larger than the sum of their breaths. He talks about the last generation and next generations as if they were as real as the present. This passion with reason is what separates a good leader from just a leader. John talks about there not being enough hours in the day to do what needs to be done, such is the urgency of his passion. The Saanich people are dealing with the revival and survival of Sencoten language and Saanich culture so they have to dream big all the time.

Good leaders share a good background in govern-ment and policy. You either have a champion who can make decisions and represent a community properly and fairly or you have a collective gover-nance and policy structure that is capable of sup-porting decisions as a group. Sometimes, if commu-nities are lucky, there will be both.

02. Plight of the leader

When Darrel Ross of the Tseshaht Nation speaks of the late George Watts, a chairmen of Nuu-chah-nulth Council and profound leader, he sums up the plight of the leader best. “He was very forthright in making sure we held onto our values. I lot of people didn’t like the way he was a noisy guy. He liked our people to debate amongst ourselves what our values and our visions are. He would always encourage that. As aggressive as he was he knew how to get consensus and knew how to gather ideas and make them work.” The plight of the leader is that they must have a strong, hard, heart and few are capable of this role. In addition they must be comfortable in the fact they will pass silently like a ship in the night and not have their name in shining lights, but to have changed the course of history forever. Mandela said, don’t tell my story, tell the story of the community.

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Douglas Cardinal reminds us that in a colony you’re going to rock the boat. You’re going against all the things that people think they know. What is the role and burden of the champion here? Do they fold? The price the leader can pay is astronomical emo-tionally and financially. For Canada, the thought of an Indigenous worldview unraveling years of hard earned assimilation tactics was difficult to swallow as it went against the whole hierarchical structure - God save the queen etc.

The sacrifice of the champion is clear. In the strug-gle for Quinta Monroy, Iquique there is profound stories of personal sacrifice from leaders. Praxedes Campos, one of the leaders, who was entrusted by the native Aymara people that constitute seventy percent of the project, to carry their vision.

Sometimes we see this paradigm often in remote Indigenous communities now. In the big mess of bleeding hearts and good willed agencies toughing it out on the ground in the dust, there is always a few key people that have earned the respect of the community, not through their wallets but through their spirit. Sometimes, whole system hinges on that person. What if they get sick or leave or what if a native leader falls ills?

In new architectural paradigms and changing per-spectives of Indigenous creative equity, we may see new types of design-oriented leaders divorced from fashion, false realities or over-appraisal. Comparison and judgment are tools of the weak. Good leaders possess the ability to transcend these qualities, not just through their obligation but through the very fiber of their being. 03. Bad leadership

In unstable political landscapes, just as individuals have the power to leap off the edge and progress inequality and cultural deterioration, they can also prevent a whole community from benefiting from a project. In Mandela’s yard, a tenant of the borrowed shack saw an opportunity for a pay out when talk be-gan of a design project around the site, he parked his truck in front of the yard in protest and is probably still there today.

Is the instability of leadership in a community on ac-count of individuals, within the realm of obligation of the architect? Most likely not. President Zuma or national government needs to step in here on behalf of the community. This is a role of the government, to use its power for the community. An architect can

burn there fingers getting involved in the political action of individuals. The difficulty in internally driven processes may not be so much in focusing on the individual instigating disruptive behavior, but the effects it has on the sociocultural stability and foundation of the surrounding political landscape to which we rely on for creative, intellectually contextu-al decision making to emerge. When one looks at the Bopitikelo Community Centre and all the processes and stories that led to the building being built or not, they’re essentially quite sad stories. What we see here is a constructive design process with a truly balanced relationship of architect and community become sidelined by a service provider setting up alienating situation with tribal authority that leaves the building empty. After a flood and a fire it is no wonder the building is now considered somewhat poisoned. Internal politics and power struggles can undo a project like a kitten on a ball of string.

So what happens when a service provider absconds with seventy thousand rand and the architect and team is left high and dry? These stories need to be told. Both the bad stories and the good ones and when one sits in Molatedi village for longer than one day, you do hear the joy behind the conception of the idea for a cultural centre. Is the dissemination of knowledge in the architectural community distorted to only the good?

We do encounter this paradigm in psychologically unhealthy post-colonized Indigenous communities that have corrupt internal hierarchies as well. This idea then, of self-autonomy and self-organization is only really relevant to those communities that pos-sess healthy socio-political landscapes of knowledge exchange. Without a stable political landscape the reality of an Indigenous driven design process is as abstract as its definition in theory.

The effects of such poisonous systems of gover-nance can affect communities even more profoundly when they are geographically disconnected from the community itself. In New Brighton Township in Port Elizabeth, South Africa there is some system of delegation on community level working on the ground. However at regional and city level there is disruption due to power relations and financial inadequacy. So although you have good leadership, the money provided that leadership needs to develop and support community initiatives from within may have been channeled elsewhere, or socio-politically, in the wrong hands. These types of transparent in

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vestigations in the pursuit of honesty are profoundly important. We must understand what lies beneath the facade of consensus discussion to reveal whether the leadership if indeed still leading at all. In Huechuraba, Santiago the region has more than five thousand Indigenous Mapuche residents but they are yet to mobilize as a group. Why? There is a lack of leadership and there is underlying shame about their origins, about being Mapuche. To con-ceive of an architectural profession that doesn’t find this disturbing is disappointing to say the very least.

04. New systems of governance

The romantic notions of flat structured, matriarchal Indigenous societies hinged on traditional modes of governance is, in some parts of the world, now a pipe dream. Cultural assimilation and the geno-cide of respect and cultural protocol have been so effective, that many of the original methods of governance and decision making have adopted the provincial or colonial systems.

There are shining examples in the architectural pro-gram of buildings whereby the adoption of ‘modern’ governance has proved beneficial to communities. In the District 6 Museum in Cape Town, South Africa we see a successful governance of colored, educated people driving the development of the building full time. It is exemplary of the self-determined process of adoption and adaption. For the most part in Canada, the federal and pro-vincial system of governance has proved effect in white washing the diversity accumulated over tens of thousand of years of self-organizing practices, down the kitchen sink. Chief and councils, however, still have to take decisions to the people as part of this modern political system. How well can one redesign a design process based on Indigenous worldview when the overarching decision making process still stops at provincial. Period.

The political structure of Indigenous Canada is interesting. After being set aside in Indian reserves a hundred and fifty years ago, it has been a slow meta-morphosis into white mans system. The people from the deserts of Osoyoos never had an elected system. The Queens system of electing a chief and a council was introduced. Before that, tribes had unique ways of electing their leaders. It wasn’t a blanket system. When we disconnect leadership structures from their geographical and sociocultural influences, it leads to corruption and power imbalance. If a desert

landscape of scarcity depicts a mobile, scattered and always moving community, the structure of leader-ship is completely different to a cold climate where permanent structures and people have the ability to access a leader always through proximity. Architects and agencies working with Indigenous driven design processes need to be aware of the photo-shopped reality of community governance they are swirling beneath.

There are positive examples of new systems of governance in Indigenous communities. If a lot of cases we still find that if one person speaks for the common story of the collective and the stories aren’t matching, then the collective still figures out why. Essentially, if one person is wrong the whole group is wrong. Despite the obvious deteriorations in cultural identity of Indigenous peoples, self-gover-nance has to be a collective force that can progress a community not an individual – at least on a psycho-logical level.

The Haida organizational structure is in tact enough to resist being tested upon or ‘participated on’ from external agency. Interestingly though, the inter-nal systems of governance and respect have been influenced by external parameters. In 2013, tonnes of iron were dumped off Tow Hill as part of the salmon recovery process. It happened and most people didn’t even know until after it happened. The ‘outside’ money based in carbon credits is typical of some major driving forces on communities. We can-not escape the influences of the global cash econ-omy on internal community governance systems. The field for design and development processes to operate in remains the same for native and non-na-tive people. If the leadership and political structures are corrupt there is no point continuing with any restorative exercise under this rule.

Ultimately, in new forms of Indigenous led gov-ernance, it’s about good, transparent leadership. Seabird Island First Nation in Agassiz for instance has a unique council of individuals from different families, all educated in both worldviews and coming from successful backgrounds. Here we see the essential power of having good leadership. There are people within this governance engaged in policy and influential projects outside community. It is a healthi-er structure, even if it is introduced. 05. The old way

Benjamin Franklin was the Indian agent for the Iro-quois and adopted the Great Law of Peace from

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Gayanashagowa and Hiawatha and essentially con-verted into the United States Constitution. Indeed, as Douglas Cardinal remarks in conversation, the symbol of the eagle with five arrows is derived from the five Iroquois Nations. The old way of governance, suffice to say, is being stamped out. It is not to say architects and designers should become embroiled in the passion of such romantic begin-nings and tragic endings, but simply develop a deep understanding that when you colonize the minds of an Indigenous person by telling them what you think should happen, you remove all possibility of tens of thousands of years of wisdom and its potentially profound influence on you personally and profes-sionally.

Elders, who have an innate ability to cut through to the essences of one’s intention, are still in many Indigenous communities used for guidance. Put very simply, they have been here longer than most and hold together the fabric of the community. They have negotiated on all levels between people and outside influences and can mediate both worldviews. Elders are the great leveler in the triangulation of cultural polarity. Never will you feel less at ease with your lack of wisdom and never will you feel the full weight of relevant knowledge as one does in the presence of an elder.

In Llaguepulli each decision begins with a council of elders, including the lonco that oversees and approves the process. It is respectful and humble be-ginnings. There are functional leaders that form part of the formal organizations that integrate with the State and are elected every four years. In Chilean law they are the authority but in Mapuche law they are subordinate to the lonco. Above all else, asking the people is paramount in collective modes of negoti-ation but it is the trust in the leaders that facilitates consensus building. The leaders in Llaguepulli have very definable roles. They are not mediators per se but hold very strong positions most of the time. Their role is integral to the functionality of a Indig-enous driven design process, as they are essentially figuring out how to work that middle point between tensions and bring people together.

Leadership and the balance of passion and reason, is universal in its obligation. You declare something and a nation can follow. Bringing together all the stakeholders though consensus to develop the vision that speaks to the cores of people’s hearts is the old way. This not only connects people developing the

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Electronic Aboriginal . Mochudi, Botswana

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Gull . Strait of Georgia

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01. Sit down money

Sit down money was either a mistake or an invisible leash tied to the necks of the have-nots for the pur-pose of passive control. It’s not to say welfare hasn’t helped many people and supported people in hard-ship over many years but the idea of doing nothing for money has had one of the most debilitating effects on the work ethic and sense of purpose of our Indigenous peoples the world over.

Job service provider trucks kick dust up along desert roads, hunting signatures like leopard skins. They concentrate on the job but perhaps not the network surrounding the job. It associates the mod-ern understanding of work with irrelevance and isn’t by any means connected to the working rhythms of cultural practice or environmental parameters. The triangulation of a financial assistance model and culture must be based around the landscape, other-wise it runs counter to the very values of someone’s spirituality, values and reason, which sometimes can be the landscape itself. What about seasons and times of day in the determination of a working model and financial strategy based on geographical and sociocultural parameters from within Indigenous worldview?

A paradigm architects and designers must face in community development projects anywhere is this idea that when you’ve been one of the have-nots and you see the chance to be one of the haves, your reaction is skewed to behaving like the people you apparently admired. In the development of an Indigenous driven design process we must address these systems of financial support and the creation of more complex strategies of sociocultural domains to which enterprise and microeconomic activity independent of government systems may emerge. What would the government funded training organi-zations do if Indigenous people became self-reliant and enterprising?

LONG LEASHES

The undercurrent of culturally hegemonic control in Australia over Aboriginal people is strong and based in this kind of philosophy of a ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you’ mentality, but no one ever talks about the food that is fed and indeed eaten. Nor do they discuss the hand and where it has been. If the parts of the Western world are coming back around into a consciousness of chemical-free food and foraging, tow pillars of Indigenous knowledge, why don’t we treat creative health in the same way? Our ideas and our design processes aren’t exempt from the toxic affects of chemicals, especially when they are mass produced and packaged to a culture and worldview that’s very existence hinges on variety and diversity. And now, if we forage for food be-cause Scandinavia said it was ok, then why do we not do the same with ideas and the design process? Why don’t we start with an empty stomach and walk to-gether, searching for what is around and available to us, filling our bodies with creative nutrition. Instead the dominating culture pours sugar into the minds of the poor. This white death is blocking the arteries of the unwilling, amputating their spirit. 02. Work

Indigenous people have always worked and were never without food. It is only in a late phenomenon in last 35 - 40 years that many have stopped working and this is several generations deep now. Most of the Osoyoos Indian Band in the desert of British Columbia work because of the enterprises of the Band, the proximity to work on country and it’s inherent opportunities. The self determined or-ganizational structure of the community is such that the people have open streams of communication for entrepreneurship and self-sustaining enterprises. Chief Clarence Louis is adamant that his people have always worked, so they shouldn’t stop now in the face of adversity. It is a strong, albeit confronting message. Sometimes a skill set doesn’t fit into the boxes that are defined by what Western worldview considers ‘work’ or an established occupation. There are cul-tural differences in value of the exertion of ones en-ergy during day-to-day activities. Perhaps someone’s role in a community requires them to sit, monitor and observe. How is that quantified for the number crunchers and bureaucrats off-country? If you take that role away because you can’t see the physical out

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come of their role, then it leaves a hole in the fabric of society that one can’t even recognize as a hole. It is a destructive cycle of control. Ultimately the goal of work is to engage in the rhythms of nature, and nature is always working. The self-pride to build your family and educate your children and have the freedom to say ‘no’ to the experiments of government, policy and external enterprise is part of what should drive Indigenous ambition. We must begin to address the prejudice that all people on welfare are sitting and doing nothing. Some people in Indigenous communities, such as Seabird Island in Agassiz, choose to be on welfare and volunteer their services for free. From this point they may break the system of ‘working hours’ and obligations enforced by a worldview incongruent to their own and stay flexible within a community in terms of providing guidance and assistance. It is imperative that designers and agencies understand, at least on the surface, the invisible occupations of some Indigenous living systems; simply that just because you can’t see someone working, it doesn’t mean they’re not. 03. Free architecture

It’s valid to argue that free architecture is worse than free money.

Worse than cash welfare for doing nothing is archi-tecture as welfare for doing nothing. Now the archi-tecture is both useless and expensive. The challenge then is framing projects that aren’t free as capable of going to scale, and looking at strategies for economic interconnectedness within the project that might develop it in time. Currently most design processes that go to scale, to the extent of their ripple effect on the sociocultural landscapes of communities, are either funded by government or large private enter-prises and hence attached to a prescriptive process, requiring people to jump through hoops for release of funding. How then in say, northern Canada in the deep remote cold, does one frame an architecture project that isn’t free, but capable of going to scale? There, as Alanna Quock mentions, you have ‘Yukon time’ plus ‘Indian time’, that both require more fluid time scales. The projects must cater for specific skills development through small, incremental built out-comes. Perhaps this is how we should conceive of projects in Indigenous communities; self designed and operated, ambitious and capable of developing incrementally over time.

In many places in the world, especially in marginal-ized populations, if the government is giving you a house you’re going to play the game. People, native or non-native, are inherently resourceful, especially when they don’t have a lot. In Alexandra Township in Johannesburg, enumeration exercises suddenly became skewed the moment the agency was on the ground, earmarking people in need of new housing.All of a sudden the fifteen earmarked shack sites for singular family structures becomes thirty-two because the number of families in each shack tripled on the day. People may not necessarily live in a par-ticular house; rather they use it to rent out to family, friends or foreign nationals in need of shelter. In some senses, the delivery of free housing in South Africa is simply exacerbates the problem. The con-cern of this story does not lie here though, as it is a dark and slippery path. Community driven processes in South Africa are dif-ficult because communities are not empowered. The government still maintains control of the delivery of architecture. There are many years to go before the housing crisis has slowed enough in townships to look at more progressive forms of development and the creative potential of the collective. To expect people to take control of their lives in such hardship is a long shot. 04. Self determination

South Africans seem more aggressive about their rights than other cultures that have endured invasion of some kind. Although they are cash poor they are intellectually and creatively rich. The path to self-de-termination is easier if ones mental capabilities have an outlet.

South Africa in the 1980s was more progressive in terms of architecture’s engagement with self-de-termination, than presently, according to Jo Noe-ro. He recollects that generally people knew what they wanted because they had worked hard for it. Communities would carefully select the people they want to collaborate with and would raise money for themselves to develop briefs for projects. It is when people aren’t empowered that we get this govern-ment deliverance model that asphyxiates passion for the sake of reason alone when the two should never have been separate.

Lions . Cape Town

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Writing . Montreal to Halifaz

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01. Foreign objects

Michael Hooper at GSD Harvard flipped through the pages of a book on Aboriginal housing designs in Canada from 1984. With no concession for land-scape or sociocultural setting, what were the houses actually doing there?

The undoable action and consequence of introduc-ing foreign objects into remote communities is remi-niscent of the 1980 film ‘The Gods Must Be Crazy’, whereby a coke bottle falls from an airplane flying over the Kalahari, and lands in the possession of a San Bushmen tribe, yet to be colonized or touched by modern man.

In all of this talk and investigation into community driven development, collective decision-making and participatory design, is an underlying desire to ‘fix’ and improve on the damage done by cross-cultural debilitation in the first place. In other words, we wouldn’t be talking about any of this if it weren’t for the fact that there has been a disruption to the existing life of a population, that requires for lack of a better term - ‘fixing’. The very reason we can’t resolve a lot of these issues, is because the power structure that is defining the problems is also the one who is trying to solve them; the ones who threw the coke bottle in the first place. What we’re really seeing now is this complicated task of ‘undoing’ what invasion has done, yet to do this one must be aware of two things; firstly what they did in the first place and whether the done, is in fact, undoable at all. It isn’t rocket science to suggest that if society exists for 40,000 years then is almost forced into extinction in 200, the power relationships under which ‘participation’ and ‘community driven development’ is operating, are inexplicably moun-tainous and unbalanced to say the very least. Is the job of the ‘thrower’ to offer solutions unique to their worldview, since the ‘bottle’ originates from

COKE BOTTLES

within it? And is it the job of those on the ground who have been fundamentally shifted into a torrent sea of change, without the ropes of information and cross-cultural education to steady them, to just ac-cept these solutions? This is a fundamental question in architectural practice today. If you throw the coke bottle and try to pick it back up, what happens? The complexity of this architec-tural landscape of foreign object intervention and community driven development projects is difficult since the very existence of such paradigms relies on them having caused a problem in the first place. Is design existence and interference in Indigenous communities satisfying some form of self-fulfilling prophecy?

02. The task of architecture

The true task of architecture will be to help restore communities to good physical, creative and cultural health, on their own terms, if such a thing is indeed possible given the coke bottles existence. I know many people that believe it is the obligation of archi-tecture to back off. But to take back the coke bottle and repent that it was ever thrown, is a sad truth that would only result in more cultural and geograph-ical isolation and unproductive friction between worldviews. The task of architecture will be to take advantage of the coke bottle’s existence and design political landscapes that allow for new and evolving definitions and agonistic contestations that strength-en opposing worldviews without dissolving or taking from either. That is to say, to admit the circles have overlapped, on account of the coke bottle, and find ways for architecture to creatively and passively multiply and celebrate indifference without addition or subtraction. Whether this results in buildings, artifacts, maps or qualitative strategies is entirely dependent on the community and context. Since we know the coke bottle mechanism is power-ful one, should we not be working with this para-digm for developing restorative behavioral patterns? Could we harness the potential of the small and fleeting in incremental design processes? Alanna Quock spoke in length about her investigations into using architecture as art and to state a presence or meaning combined with Indigenous identity in more complex political landscapes.

Regardless of the physical outcomes of foreign pres-ence in Indigenous settings, there is a need to rebuild this sense of ownership over ones life and not have it be defined by the object of another.

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To do this, one must undo all the policy behind the foreign objects to create landscapes of appropriate beginnings. The Champagne Aishihik community in the Yukon and the subsequent housing policy that determines home ownership on their settlement lands is a good example. Not only are the houses foreign objects they are owned by the govern-ment, the government actually dictates the ‘terms of release’ of ownership. Now we see a paradigm whereby the inappropriate dwellings that were made to house the displaced by the hands of foreign immigrants are required to adhere to new foreign codes before ownership can be passed over. It is a real issue worthy of discussion in the development of new design processes from within Indigenous worldview. Like back burning in the cold of winter, one must burn the bush to let it grow again.

With all the distractions of having to retrofit the misfired architectural experiments from the last 30 years the challenges for Indigenous communities are very profound. How do we go about preparing this generation to co-exist within two worldviews and their foreign objects but to also carry on their culture and who they are for the next 840 years.? 03. Going back

You can’t go back, it doesn’t matter who or where you are. You can’t live the way you used to two hun-dred years ago. You can’t make a living off the land anymore, traditionally, so you have to get involved in business.

This is the reality of many Indigenous communities around the world. A poignant question might be; should we need to ever go back? If the coke bottle has had some negative effects, what are the equal and opposite positive effects? Once these are iden-tified, they can be carried into the future, divorced from anything irrelevant or useless. In the court case for the Kalahari Bushmen where-by they were afforded the right to go back into the Central Kalahari Game Reserve, the very questioning of going back is became reality. If they go back now, they will be completely on their own. Is the knowl-edge of survival intrinsic or learnt through repeti-tion? Moreover if culture is evolving with the social networks of the world, is it the right of parents to take the children into the bush and disconnect them from the world and who makes this decision? Beginning to question these paradigms is important in architectural discourse to indeed question one’s relevance at all.

04. Prioritizing the new

Generally, as human nature we prioritization of new over old, such is the nature of this investigation; to question what already exists and look toward the in-finite possibilities of the not yet known. The fixation on having the new is often attached to a heightened sense of purpose or worth. That is to say, one feels as they are progressing somehow when they cycle through new things.

In oral cultures the elderly are the stores of knowl-edge. How does this fit with the dominating Western cultural patterns facilitated by the 26 letter alphabet whereby the words themselves become the stores of knowledge? Somehow in this paradigm, the new becomes prioritized, as the old seems less relevant. The repercussions with this are imperative to how one frames an Indigenous driven design process and indeed the tools to which it is communicated inter-nally and externally from Indigenous worldview.

05. Adoption and adaption

What is this cultural appropriation idea? The Mapu-che people tell stories about the war and the wage against the West that was successful for over 300 years and specifically all the things they were able to overcome because of cultural appropriation. They appropriated the corn and the wheat and even fig-ured out how to use chilli as a weapon. To adopt and adapt is to survive and there is no better example than the Mapuche of Chile.

There is a Mapuche hero Lautaru, who was the archetype of cultural appropriation. He learnt the ways of the Spaniards, in particular the horse. The adopting of Western elements to strengthen one’s own culture is found everywhere today. The argu-ment is that most creation is adaption of what we already know. This is noble, resilient and resourceful, but what of the things we don’t know we don’t even know? You can’t adopt that which doesn’t yet exist, nor can you adapt it. In modern times the Mapuche community of Llaguepulli continue to adopt and adapt systems for survival.Every meeting in community that is held, there are minutes kept and actions taken. The methods are culturally appropriated and date back to the adoption of systems of organization and written words in the 1980s as a way of being able to unpack and resist the controlling forces of top down cultural hegemony for land and culture.

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The Western worldview as we know, appropriates Indigenous technologies and systems all the time with the fundamental difference of abstraction. Take traditional medicine for example. They study the properties and they figure out one of a few of the chemical structures for manipulation into medicine but they miss the point of the traditional medicine as a holistic approach. It is a longer process that begins with actually receiving permission from the earth to use that plant. It is based in respect and gratefulness of finding the medicine. The stories surrounding the endeavors of such as those of Captain Gold’s ethnobotany studies in the Gwaii Haanas, are as important and life giving as the medicines and plants themselves.

People trained in the design process may not recog-nize adaption as designing since it hasn’t emerged from the shadows of pure creativity but it is the same creative deductive reasoning process one goes through, only it is bounded by relevance on account of beginning the process with the full extent of scale and materiality. Native people, as a broad generaliza-tion, are very adaptable. To architects and designers the disheartening phenomenon of perceived equality and wanting only, that which is in front of you, can be a source of frustration but this isn’t necessarily a function of ignorance on behalf of the person, nor does it have to equate to a lack of precedent or architectural education. Quite often it is simply that whatever the thing looks like people know they can adapt it to whatever they need once the white guys have left.

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Lost . Duffeys Lake Pass

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01. Vision as landscape

Forming a common declaration of creative direc-tion can triangulate intention through a broader collective purpose. In cross-cultural design practices, or creative negotiations involving a multiplicity of power relations, it is imperative that one thinks of the vision as a kind of immaterial landscape capable of transcending above disparity.

Often in Indigenous communities there is an already established vision as landscape, in the form of creation stories, to which all meaning can return. For the Saanich people, the story of the rope that intertwines through all the symbols and is anchored to the thunderbird is the most pure high symbol of the people. It is the story of the connection to the land and connection to oral story telling that creates the common vision for all intention and value to be anchored to. Beginning with essences as derived from narrative, is to create a triangulating landscape between contrasted worldviews.

When projects are removed from their original natural state, say in urban settings, the vision has to do the work that the landscape would have done. For the Museum of Civilization in Ottawa, the vision had to be very strong with the people and the Prime Minister. Again the vision, although not physical like nature itself, carries the same principles of unifying people, regardless of culture. Here, under the guid-ing principles of nature, the great leveler, the project can find meaning higher than the sum of the people involved.

The struggle of a people and its subsequent story, becomes a kind of creation story in itself, and when listened to and harnessed can also create a binding vision to anchor the design process to.In much of Canada, First Nations are still fighting through Treaty issues and land claims and it is hard to move forward. Instead of decontextualizing a

THE GREAT LANDSCAPE

design process from the struggle, the same principles that drive the passion for land rights, should be ar-ticulated into a vision capable of creating something useful for the community. In Elemental’s Quinta Monroy project in Iquique, the struggle was long. Design processes born out of complex social programs are difficult given their contextual isolation from the past and the future. One of the paradigms of designing functional, sociocultural settings for cultural values and commu-nity strength to naturally emerge is that if we simply view Place as a mediator for disparity then there is a gamble that as inhabitants come and go, the nature of the Place is already so unnatural that it cannot mediate these larges shifts in collective vision and intention. This, of course, is a natural occurrence in manufactured communities that aren’t established over thousands of years on the basis of family rela-tionships and connective pathways of information. If people are variable and the Place itself is variable, one of the only remaining mechanisms for tran-scending cultural differences is a vision landscape built around the collective passion of the struggle. This kind of respect for the humble origins goes some way in ensuring longevity and timelessness.

Vision landscapes don’t always have to be perma-nent. Like all things in nature that have life and leave us, the power of temporary collective vision is real. What if the design of sociocultural landscapes for creative negotiation inside communities, adopted this same temporal philosophy of impermanence and non-consequentiality? Can architecture facilitate tem-porary satellite camps for micro design discussions and capacity development that parallel the natural rhythms of people and landscape?

02. Place as mediator

Somewhere between New York and Montreal, after speaking with Ethan Kent from People for Public Spaces, the influence that Place has on mediating cultural differences became starkly apparent. One may also argue that the lack of relevance of Place for many dislocated Indigenous communities is the most significant factor in the degradation of cultural values and purpose. The nature of Places that bare no spiritual or cultur-al relevance to anyone is disheartening. What then do we make of the Places that do exist today? We know that people come and go but the Place remains, so it must stay fertile despite its manufactured origins. In urban settings this is more difficult

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to fathom, as the construction of good Place re-mains subjective despite efforts otherwise. In remote Indigenous settings where the landscape is the Place, one can imagine that an internally driven design process derived from the qualities and parameters of the landscape, upheld by an overriding vision, would be honest and true.

The landscape is innately leveling to anyone who spends time in it. For cross-cultural design process the power of the landscape offers triangulating elements between worldview and their intentions. When one has two contrasted worldviews in their hand the first focus should be the landscape. Any society must have a deepened connection to the physical landscape before considering their political landscape, sociocultural information pathways and eventually flexible ways-of-doing or design processes.

To all belong to something that is a ‘given’ or ‘unarguable’ is to triangulate between people place and purpose. From here development decisions for communities whether they be in rural or urban settings is at least partially diverted from the brain and driven more by the collective spirit. And once something is part of a collective heart or spirit then the ever-changing sea of opinions and ideas are less inclined to spill over into chaos and misdirection. It is a solid argument that the traditions and spirituality tied to land and Place that indigenous people have is relevant to planning in our cities.

Even though we can rationalize concepts like Genius Loci pre, during and post development of an idea, it is still to some degree intellectually driven and can be worked out democratically to adjust to the varied belief systems of our new societies. This construction of good Place is a shift in thinking to what Indigenous people already know about the landscape-as-spirituality and consequential mediator. To develop an Indigenous driven design process tri-angulated by landscape is to also to allow for design process to be governed by the overriding laws of an ancient spirituality – a powerful thought for the design of permanent sociocultural settings.

Dianna Kay from Seabird Island School tells us sto-ries about conduct and behavior from the mountain in front of the building and how intimate they are to Indigenous being and the identity of people. With the changing colors at different times of the year the mountain takes on different personalities and defines the community as Place. Anchoring oneself to the landscape and Place transcends individual intention and bonds collective intention by natural law.

03. Nature

Nature hears not our fears or cries against each other and only exists how it should. All the clues to how we inhabit the country are already there. This isn’t mysticism and it’s not alchemy, it’s basic intuition inherent in all of us under the layers of our manufactured reality. To bypass debates on cultur-al worldview or value systems, we need to look to nature for Truth. Most of our distinguished Austra-lian architects already know this. So why aren’t we applying this understanding to development projects today? Is it too hard?

Do Australian children have a nature deficit? With a whole generation out of sync and unaware of the rhythms of the moons and the tides where does that put mankind? As Peter Rich says, “God is in the light of a leaf.” The biggest mistake from people collec-tively is being so separated from the earth and from their origins. A design process that is born out of this understanding of nature is urgently necessary.People have been evolved to think they are not con-nected to all living things. As Douglas Cardinal says, ‘we can’t separate ourselves from the microbes in our bodies or we die, so how can we be isolated from nature?’ As an architecture process, the mes-sage is commanding. Treating every space as a cell that is connected to every other cell is profound in the design and function of positive sociocultural set-tings. The established processes of design are linear, which in many cases run incongruent to the sporadic patterning of thought, environment and the human body itself.

If one is going to produce something straight from nature, they do it from where they are standing. So why is a design process any different? If on is going to create something out of nothing, in the very act of designing or designing through making, then why monoculturalize the process by attaching external requirements or manufactured assistance? When one lights a fire, the ash becomes they’re fertilizer. In the same way, when a collective conscious is ignited, the byproduct becomes the inoculant for growth and prosperity. It is difficult to draw the connection between nature and a new way of thinking about the design process for those who have indeed, become detached from nature themselves. This interconnectedness and un-derstanding of the natural rhythms of nature is best told through the example of Cocina Mapuche, in the Indigenous settlement of Curarrehue, in the south of Chile. Here, Anita Epulef explains that she

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can recognize a weakness in the Mapuche culture around the language, the food and the traditions and that is why it’s so important for her to keep the traditions through the food. In this way, she can use food as a vehicle to embody the natural rhythm of the culture and the relationship between the natural elements, the forest, the earth, the water, the food and the people. The most difficult thing for Anita is to find ways to communicate to the public so they understand that there is a rhythm in the production and a season in the produce that the earth gives. ‘Today, the earth is giving this product and tomorrow the other one.’ The inherent values in this example add worth to the discussion on design processes. The intellectual property of the community is fruit from the soil - only ripe when ready, and most definitely seasonal. To talk about an Indigenous driven design process without the consideration of creativity as produce under the laws of seasonality, would be foolish. The most important part of Anita’s philosophy is the inception of respect for the rhythms of the earth, and the prioritization of this knowledge as equity as opposed to cash, growth or gathering more clients.

Perhaps in a Western context, one shrinks into the boxes of what they know when they hear First Na-tions describe the four moons named after salmon that are the stream systems that sustain life, or that around March, when the frog starts to croak it means the earth is warm and it is time to be outside. Is it too incongruent to the some of the spiritual traditions of Western society that might preference human order over natural order? Hearing of the sa-cred seasons of medicine and food gathering as the time for intense periods of learning and knowledge exchange, one cannot help but conceive of an edu-cational system redesigned around this would that would be progressive to say the least. We should give up on talking about social and ecological sustainable design processes immediately until we see Indige-nous professors in our Universities.

04. Architecture as mediator

Architecture can facilitate space that either provides through its contextual isolation, a literal middle ground for creative negotiation and exchange or through its spatial quality, a sense of purpose capa-ble of binding common vision. It is warranted that we need to get behind the mask of architecture and get to the meat of what it really can achieve, if we are to continue discussing design

processes as a meaningful investigation in contem-porary Indigenous communities. What does archi-tecture do to us? Are the mediating and inspiring properties of well-formed space equal to what the landscape already provides? The answer is contextual to the purpose of the space and indeed the nature of the landscape. Can space dictate the scale of par-ticipation in Indigenous driven design process? The real value of architecture as a mediator role might be in its properties that allow psychological transcendence from outside the space itself. A Ma-puche architect visited the Indigenous community of Llagupulli in the south of Chile and asked Nadia Painefil what kind of memories she had in the tradi-tional ruka, after which he asked what kind of mem-ories she had in the house. It was difficult for her to pinpoint anything of significance from her time inside her contemporary house. Clearly the ruka has further reaching meaning in our memories but why? What is the relationship between air, light and smoke with memory and meaning? We need to consider a design process capable of creating clear visions by accessing the phenomenological dimensions of space that are recorded in our subconscious. Here through the memory of the sensory dimensions of architecture we may meet and negotiate creatively.

In a simplistic sense, the physical presence of good architectural space can have profound effects on a person’s personality and propensity to indeed col-laborate creatively or care to engage. In the ruka of the Mapuche people the idea is to have the morning light that is softer and you have a steadier emotional state. People don’t get depression in that light. En-gaging in participatory design processes in the air of such space may produce different results to that of an air-conditioned boardroom. 05. Sustainability

In the most superficial sense, as an aside to any dis-cussion on participation or process, is the basic fact that creating new ways of seeing the world through Indigenous worldview in a contemporary sense would have the most lasting effects on our under-standing of ‘sustainable design’.

John Elliott from the Saanich people of Vancouver Island talks about people needing some kind of sense of security that the landscape can hold them there. Catalysts and external agencies need to find ways of understanding that Indigenous worldview, in the modern sense, is more about land than money. The elders say we should leave a good place behind

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for the ones behind us. The modern day world needs to understand that, and build some of these systems into their way of thinking. How do self-determined Indigenous design or con-struction groups compete with non-native contrac-tors on projects in remote areas? There needs to be larger efforts in developing policies for native design and construct principles and methods of filtering moral and ethical design intention, separate to the negotiations of money. Many are reaching a gradual point of environmental consciousness within the Western worldview, so we should be building in physical policies that restrict the amount of abuse a building can do the greater ecology of the world. An Indigenous driven design process if it were based on traditional ancestral knowledge, would almost certainly guarantee responsible architecture.

Alfred Waugh refers to understanding the value of healthy environments independent of worldview. In ‘salutogenic environments’ one focuses on ‘how’ they live. What is your environment like and how does it contribute to how you feel? A lot of termi-nally ill cancer patients are asking just to see some-thing living. All those things are lost when you’re fo-cusing on just the disease. Controlled environments create controlled people.

A lot of Alfred’s career has been focused on cultural identity but he begins to touch on the overarch-ing principles that guide the complex spiritual and cultural constructs that enable societies to endure, survive and exist on this earth with meaning. Essen-tially healthy environments create healthy people and healthy people are strong, and able to reverse the destructive cycle of post-invasion imperialism with vigor and peaceful agonistic cross-cultural exchange. Amongst the houses of Vivienda Social Mapuche, in Huechurab, Santiago on account of enabling participatory processes with external agencies, we see people growing traditional medicine around their houses as an involuntary reaction to partial resto-ration of cultural and psychological health and the stories surrounding medicine. This highlights the benefits of salutogenic environments of constant growth and decay. Air, light and plants have the ability to perpetuate the design process of all aspects of life as we’re reminded of the natural rhythms of life and possibility. Mapuche literally means ‘land people’. If we don’t recognize the need to prioritize land and the spirit of place over cultural or traditional disparities we will miss the opportunity for architectural purpose

higher than the legacy of our generation. It seems ironic that the effectiveness of the British Empire in conquering half the world came from a respect and conservation strategy of their largest species of trees, and the consequential ability to produce and deploy more fleets to the corners of the globe. It is our task now to listen to Indigenous knowledge and be guided by those still connected with the basic principles of survival.

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Right . Atacama Desert, Chile

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Pictou Landing Health Centre . Nova Scotia

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01. Verb based culture

Cultural value systems are born out of doing, seeing and feeling. To isolate one component of an Indigenous culture for the purpose of enterprise or education, is to sever its acting forces on the other components of the system and indeed, the systems forces on it.

Curarrehue is a perfect example of what Indige-nous communities face today, with the presence of well-meaning strangers from worldviews of a more static, noun based nature. Traditional communities have their own rhythm and a particular way of un-derstanding life. In many projects on many conti-nents this is happening to Indigenous people today - catalysts and agencies going to community to help develop culture and keep culture but developing stra-tegic frameworks from the mentality of the outsiders - from the others. External influences bring other rhythms, other times and other codes that are irrele-vant to the people and disrupt the balance of forces inside a community’s cultural ecosystem. With all this good intention often the community is left with little but a memory of the agencies presence, simply be-cause they didn’t develop ideas within the verb based nature of the worldview, with their rhythms and with their times. The intricacies of cultures based in rhythm and dynamic perpetual action, don’t have to be particularly mystical. If the presence of the dominating cultural force were capable of adapting, adopting or appropriating to the same rhythm of the people of Curarrehue, then the connection between the two in positive agonistic negotiations would be seamless. Hunting is always a good example of the destructive side effects of removing a cultural activity from a well-established system. Kagiso Jobe talks about the Kalahari Bushmen and their restrictions on hunting on account of the management of the Central Kala-hari Game Reserve. The inability to hunt can

VERBS & NOUNS

do massive social structural damage. One cannot separate the act of hunting from the act of living, or interacting or development nor can one think of it as just a ‘food’ or ‘survival’ related activity. For certain worldviews like that of the Basawara, the act of hunting is also education, negotiation, creative ex-change and healthy political contestation triangulated by the activity of surviving-by-doing. The repercus-sions of this understanding reach well into the field of architecture. Now, instead of focusing on the ‘thing’ one might focus on the active and reactive forces of it against all other things. In every interview conducted in Llaguepulli in the south of Chile, Alison Guzman, Ignacio Krell and Nadia Painefil sight cultural strengthening as the constant priority for the community. Whether it is in jewelry making or farming, the idea of ceremonies and language and the inseparable nature of both was the dominating principle. Both ceremony and language are verb based constructs of culture and a clue that the hierarchy of needs of many Indigenous communities must be based in this understanding of the verb and of interconnectedness between needs. One cannot isolate a ‘need’ as a noun. The typical design process taught through Institutions today in Australia is systemic and rooted partially in abstraction and the configurations of needs and wants as nouns. It’s hard to imagine an Indigenous design process that was not in the native language of the area or one that did not involve ceremony and meaning.

02. Verb based people

An Indigenous driven design process needs to create the opportunity for the swirling patterns of knowl-edge and creative potential of people to continue long after the mud on ones boots has dried and find ways for this information to be naturally commu-nicated to the architect. One does this by listening, asking questions and establishing healthy spaces of productive, agonistic exchange, so that the progres-sion of a project or an idea is held together by the fabric of common intention, independent of the changing nature of people. Everyone thought the Lil’Wat Cultural Centre in Whistler came from the Olympics but it was a very long time planning. Preparing the soil is more important than the tools you implement to grow or harvest. If there isn’t life there and if the connec-tions between organisms aren’t there, then ideas are infertile. What we sometimes see in participatory practice is the illusion of a population of people, or

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high number of organisms, equating to the fertility of an idea. The soil can look rich and dark and full of life, but it’s the ability for nutrients to be ab-sorbed and micro-biotic activity to thrive that is the only determining factor of creative health. In reality this equates to the ability for sociocultural settings to allow for the changing nature of people to absorb the intention of ideas with respect and humility and carry forward that vision. Perhaps we’ve become comfortable with being uncomfortable in the design process, enough so that we forget to include people on account of a few bad eggs and devils advocates stirring the pot. This is why the design process in Indigenous cultures is par-ticularly interesting, because it starts to draw in these greater ideas about sociocultural landscapes and healthy areas of agonistic exchange and negotiation in dynamic landscapes of all people – not devoid of people altogether. For decision-making processes to be restored to their former capacity, all of the health and values of people all need to be connected again, and this is the obligation of architecture to create systems around buildings, not just the buildings themselves.

We tend to talk about buildings in remote Indige-nous settings as depreciating assets. The ruka in the Mapuche context is free, so the discussion based around people and not money becomes significantly easier. Granted the ruka does physically deteriorate or depreciate but this, in some respects, is irrelevant given the availability of resources and a sophisti-cated understanding of cyclical building processes. What we don’t talk about is the appreciating assets of people, their relationships and their collective conscious on account of the community led design and construction process. From within an Indige-nous community such as this, it is the conversation about a building, the choosing of a site and the eventual construction that are part of a story that is strengthening for the culture and the intricate human relationships that develop or change during the act. One could argue then that there is nothing depreci-ating about a ruka. 03. Verb based architecture

John Turner talked about architecture as a function of what it does, not what it is. He was right.

Is architecture static like some believe? Or is it a verb that acts on the people and landscape around it. This is a powerful message for Indigenous verb-based societies in the discussion of the relevance of archi

tecture. In fact it is a powerful message for scientists, artists and any other creative profession engaged in the physical world. When one focuses on the forces of a building their propensity to begin a process of ‘form finding’ is significantly diminished. The infinite equations of dynamism in nature, is mirrored in verb based architecture and in turn speaks to the infiniteness of the human body. Often in First Nations communities in Canada the health care facilities become pivotal points in com-munities as a trajectory for action and sponge for intention and reflection. It often takes on the role of community kitchen or a meeting place for intellectu-al negotiation, resolution and cleansing of psy-chological waste. The spaces themselves also carry meaning, like an object would from a long journey. There are often ceremonies for site blessings, pole raising and turning of the soil, as the building is given its own spirit by the community. In this sense, the architecture becomes a character in a story, with a heartbeat and a breath. How can we take this kind of meaning and development of a narrative for the creation story of a building, in the long breathes before the construction?

The ruka is a verb not a noun. It is dependent on the activity inside it. Without anyone living in the space it falls apart. The symbiotic relationship of space and inhabitants runs directly counter to the common practice of conceiving of buildings as shells for hermit crabs. Designing for permanency is mistak-en for designing with permanent materials that can withstand loneliness or rejection from human beings. Surely this is a relatively new concept, probably derived out of cold climate ancestry where buildings are sturdy points of refuge. The nature of the design process is no different. One designs typical proce-dures as empty shells to sit inside, adhere to and make do. The process should be a direct translation of the activity of the community. Without people there is no fire, and without fire there is no smoke. Perhaps this is why current design processes in Indigenous communities unrelated to worldview or cultural value grow mold so quickly.

It isn’t just the materiality and physics of a verb based architecture that are interesting in Indigenous design processes, but rather how the buildings them-selves react with the total sociocultural setting and the psychological actions of a surrounding commu-nity. In Botswana, when you ask a question about housing, one may have in their mind that particular house but the other may be thinking of what that house will mean to the community at large.

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The perception of architecture as a fluid and evolv-ing part of the whole is a commanding thought. Housing as fulfillment, for many in the worldview of the Basarwa people is a driven by buildings relation-ship with people and relationship with land. One may think, ‘I inhabit this space, inside this bigger space’. It isn’t about the actual dimensions of space per se, but that you’re situated socially and geograph-ically in a system that will sustain you and bring you a meaningful life.

Kagiso Jobe elaborates that in Botswana people usually build one house, and then based out of need they build another one. It is a function of family relationships, not necessarily a strategy for archi-tectural outcomes but for potential sociocultural outcomes whereby the architecture is the vehicle to situate people, but not define them. There is a well-established culture of building one’s own house even now in modern times, but discussions on ‘self-build’ isn’t the bones of this piece of writing. What is interesting is the phenomenon for a building to breed more buildings in Indigenous communities. People inherently, and slowly copy each other once a method is established. It resonates with the capacity for collective intention rather than rampant individ-ualism.

Communicating the verb based potential of archi-tecture for the creation of positive sociocultural settings, to Indigenous communities underwhelmed and firmly established in the disappointing inappro-priateness of colonial experiments of static archi-tecture, is a mountainous task. Often for anything to gain respect from cultures outside that of ones own, one must find definable ways of communicating complexity in simple terms. For Alanna Quock, in the Yukon, a small outhouse project was an exam-ple of the restrictions of talking about verb based architecture cross-culturally in non-esoteric ways. When is an outhouse not just an outhouse? Can one communicate the deeper architectural insights of this phenomenon, prior to its existence? 04. Verb based knowledge

Knowledge has weight in any culture. To many Indigenous cultures it is as tangible as a physical material, so taking it away, is like taking any object away - its absence very clearly noticeable.

Above all else, is always the vision and like the peo-ple or buildings it is serving, it also, not static. It is a negotiation process that bears people in mind and thus inherently is at work. It isn’t to say that the

components of a shared vision are shifting, it ismore that it is acting as a force always on the creative potential and common purpose of those under it. One should not focus on the definition of each relationship in a project, as people come and go and relationships change, but to develop an overarching vision that is a verb space capable of acting and reacting positively over time. One may think of knowledge as ‘invisible’, ancillary or complimentary to the ‘idea’ or the eventual phys-ical outcome but to many Indigenous nations it is actually the most important part of the exchange.The importance of understanding knowledge not as an object, but as a continuous stream, spanning generations through changing sociocultural and political landscapes is clear. Knowledge isn’t static, it is operating in the present, having been gifted from the past and influencing the future. If we conceive of the verb based nature of knowledge in this way, we respect the need to not only listen more intently to Indigenous knowledge, but to leave behind as much useful and relevant knowledge as we can from our interactions.

Knowledge in Indigenous worldview is almost always attached to a many number of other forces. Dianna Kay at Seabird Island School speaks of Vygotsky’s theory of scaffolding as learning in the Western context. The theory states that one thing is learnt that helps you climb, then another is learnt and another and eventually the scaffolding can come down. Aboriginal worldview is learning one thing but four other things at the same time. It spirals and goes around and around. The physical, emotion-al and the being are all intertwined. For example, teaching a child how to butcher a fish is also teach-ing them about the fish, where it comes from, the stream and where it comes from, the knife and so on and so on.

In Llaguepulli, the presence of Maple, a small micro development organization has facilitated the emer-gence of research design cycles, qualitative cycles, quantitative cycles and finally institutionally designed cycles. The idea of design process and knowledge as a series of constantly moving cycles, rather than lin-ear, is truly commanding. The infinite possibility of a cyclical process is far more exciting to the design professional with the intellectual capacity to fathom it. With no start or end point, and the possibility for infinite intersections, the idea of the cycle, if harnessed to produce constant meaningful work full of firmness and commodity, is one of the driving influences behind this writing.

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Tow Hill . Haida Gwaii

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01. Doing before saying

Magnetic induction is the instantaneous transfer of material without being filtered or interpreted. Mean-ing can be transferred in actual reality through bodily movement and such is the nature of doing.

In the wake of broken Treaties, broken promises and the inability to connect deeper meaning through language barriers, it is wise to measure the limits of architectural process and cross-cultural engagement based on words alone.

It is not to say that doing is indeed better than saying, or vice versa. In fact an Indigenous driven design process based on doing would have numer-ous complications if it included an external agency. Words, even when limited to a few, give us the chance to sit almost silently and be in each other’s presence in agonistic and pluralistic environments. The fundamental difference is, the culturally dom-inant party must do more sitting and listening, not sitting and talking.

The power of doing and observing in revealing the truth of ones intention will always be a far more productive means of cross-cultural participation. The level of filtration and abstraction of intention on the part of the observer is minimalized and steady truth is easier kept. The question may not be whether action takes preference over words, or whether designing-as-you-go is a more suited meth-odology in an Indigenous driven design process, but whether or not architecture can even engage in non-documented forms of design? Is it still design if no one drew anything? NGO’s and other research based agencies, that para-chute into Africa often deploy what they call ‘struc-tured community activities’ to try and simulate real life actions independent of the inherent disruption from their presence. Contrived or not, perhaps they

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are necessary to evoke dormant social and political fervor that could benefit the community. Perhaps in some places they plant a seed of thought and bypass the ‘white men are liars’ paradigm. The complication occurs when the information is gathered and then abstracted from the confines of a distant office on another continent - but such is the nature of mos-quitoes and other field researchers. The most important message in the Indigenous driven restaurant typology behind Cocina Mapu-che in Curarrehue isn’t the taste of food or spatial setting, but the story behind the ingredients. What your eating started with a family many miles from there and through the recollection of the product you can understand the water, the season and all the complexities of beneficial human relationships. Communicating this is a whole other kettle of fish, particularly when you’ve abstracted the person or people from the origin of the food in the first place. The disassociation of meaning is triangulated with doing in the form of cooking classes. There are no recipes, just stories about the origin of each ingredient. Again, we encounter the unmistakable worth in doing something together, and connecting through that doing. The shift in mentality toward a verb based existence, where everything comes from somewhere, and is connected to someone else, is the triumph of this ethno tourism model.

02. Saying before doing

A typical design process methodology involves say-ing ones intention, which comprises the majority of the process of creative collaboration. Indeed vision sessions and flat structure negotiations of intellectu-al and creative equity, all involve the act of saying.

It is in the saying without any real intention of doing, that has incapacitated faith and trust amongst some Indigenous communities and external agencies to date. Architects and designers, in this uncertain political landscape are living in fear of repeating such poor practice, which is at the heart of the dissolving role of the architect. But as Peter Rich reminds us, from his extensive work with Indigenous nations in Africa, that there is a long process of saying before doing, and it is indeed a responsible and respectful thing to do. It is essentially a bridge building exercise and there is little point in jumping in and doing until one has formed a good relationship with the other. Perhaps someone has never thought of what you’re suggest-ing before and in the light of now knowing each other, you may work the idea up together. Essentially

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it is about finding ways to communicate what you’re doing with people, so that when the inevitable doing does occur, the vision and the relationship is strong. We don’t teach architects and planners to commu-nicate their perception and intuition toward grander visions during the process in ways that doesn’t at least partially colonize people’s minds or suffocate the unknown, so it is easier for most to default to just ‘doing’. ‘Stand back and you’ll know what I mean when its finished!’ The answer is that Indig-enous communities under unnatural political and sociocultural pressures and internal conflict are inherently not ready to develop an identity through immediate doing. It would be stones and mortar thrown to quicksand. The question of an architect or planners ability to communicate higher inten-tion than the results of participation would be an irrelevant discussion if equality and well-organized, mobilized communities existed everywhere.

03. Active cultures

Traditional activities are easier to maintain because they’re actions based around doing with many functions. Indigenous driven design processes based around activities or active forces heavily favor cultur-al relevance and resilience against the system, simply due to the multifunctional nature of dynamic space and dynamic bodily movement. Information is re-tained through five senses, through muscle memory, pleasure and pain so why is the design process usu-ally restricted to two-dimensions and disconnected from the realities of dynamism in three dimensional spaces? Why do we insist on favoring linear design processes in non-linear, active cultural landscapes?

Interestingly, at Seabird Island School in Agassiz, we see that even in modern schools children are taught to read a situation beyond the bounds of the spoken word. This perception is still taught, as a pillar of an active, living culture. It can only ever be learnt through experience not through what you read. For the Coast Salish communities of the British Co-lumbian coast, an active existence is natural. There needs to be more time on the water for creative knowledge exchanges and less time in boardrooms. The journey across water to land is where the ne-gotiation of intellectual capital always happened, so why not make all the creeks and streams educational places? The very constitution of a school curriculum would be as living and active as the healthy flow of knowledge it facilitated. That is building education and that is building for the future.

04. Undoing

Greg Johnson, one of the architects of Skidegate Elementary School, instilled trust in most people during the design process, much of which is credited to the relentless testing of ideas against the vision with the Haida people. The relationship here be-tween agency and community is made to be pur-posefully agonistic from the perspective of testing each other’s bounds of understanding and percep-tion. Sometimes one needs to get torn apart, or tear someone apart, to see what they’re made of. The undoing of design decisions in this design process is purposefully messy but such is life. The end result is a school far more in line with the values and vision of the Haida people.

Sometimes with architectural practice the perception of space belongs only to the one with the pen in their hand, such is the nature of creative leadership. It is in the process of unpacking or undoing what the designer or architect has developed within ones own mind, where the engagement of space can occur. Most of us, in stable circumstances, are wired to make most of what is available. For the people of the Quinta Monroy housing project in Iquique the perception of spaces during the process was difficult. Inside a house a man tells us of his expec-tations for the space to be much smaller based on what was presented in the model. In this example, it is the power of physically seeing a seven-year strug-gle turn into reality that can make even the smallest spaces feel large in ones mind. In some ways we undo the intentions of the architects and construct new meaning based on our own specific emotional response.

In regards to the incremental infilling of the houses at Quinta Monroy, it is interesting to note how the almost alien abstraction of space through repetitious form has been un-designed into something more uniform and coherent in its diversity. For this kind of undoing to occur it is suffice to say that through repetition and scale and a stable point of reference, a positive sociocultural landscape of equality emerges to which the ultimate expression of diverse mate-riality and color is thriving. This idea is powerful in the creation of doing-centered design processes based on physical materials and their dimension and weight.

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05. Talking

Some people talk too much. In attending both a biannual elders council in Mer-ritt, British Columbia and sitting at lengths in a ruka with Mapuche locals, there is a striking realisation of the inadequacies of ones understanding. In not yet understanding the purpose or intention of what one is saying, culturally, one may talk during the cognitive process of figuring out what one is even saying at all.

Some Indigenous groups, in the presence of external agencies are accustomed to doing otherwise. For cross-cultural interactions, it is important for the visiting catalyst to be aware of exactly their own intention first before expecting someone else to give up theirs. Knowing what one needs to ask, before talking is the first port of call for any participatory exercises.

Again it is important to remember that doing is not better or worse than saying. In fact, the act of talking is and has been a useful tool for survival. In British Columbia Coast Salish art was dying, so community members commissioned internal artists to carve the art into the buildings in its purist form. Almost all of the time this Indigenous driven design process stems out of very long conversations and negotiations of knowledge that lead to small decisions with vast impacts.

It is not the internal dialogue of community that is of any real interest, as any community, socio-politi-cally intact or not, will talk to each other and deduce outcomes to perceived issues. The issue is generally with external agencies and their approach to talking. With the revival of buzz words like participation, it is essential to talk more about talking. As Alanna Quock says, one cannot walk into a community and say, ‘you tell us what ‘process’ you would like to endure’ and if the architect or designer does in fact have an empty mind and hopes for pure creativity to emerge out of the ashes, then what you’re really saying is, ‘I’m here to make a mess. I’m here to over throw the system. Anyone else interested?’ The history of colonist immigrants and talking is not a particularly good one for most Indigenous societies. Take Prime Minister Harpers apology to the children of the residential schools in Canada for example. Subjectively, it was as empty as the Austra-lian equivalent. It felt like murmur pressed through the lips of a guilty child to the ears of most First Nations.

In all this the overriding question of architecture is; can architecture respond to this systemic under-standing of the dynamic forces between people and place that are grounded in an oral history and can it respond to values that aren’t written down?

In essence: words are cheap without trust and earned respect.

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Skidegate Elementary School . Haida Gwaii

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01. Abstraction in reflection

Abstraction can asphyxiate the evolution of cross-cultural endeavors.

In the fear of more colonization or accidental assimilation some external agencies are inadvertently using romanticism as a vehicle for museumization. The surface treatment behind the Mapuche houses in Vivienda Social Mapuche, Huechuraba remains unpaved and untouched, much to the disagreement of the inhabitants. To put it in context, most of the people that live in the houses were born in Santiago. When they applied to have the sidewalk space at the back of the houses paved or compacted, the answer came back that ‘Mapuche are used to living in mud, so why do they want to cover the earth?’

In South Africa the word museum means nothing to the people you are trying to tell the stories with. A museum is typology born out of the cold climates of the north. They are places that hold exhibitions so when it is cold you have a place to reflect on culture in congregation in the company of things in cabinets. In the developing world, most artifacts are made for ritual practice and they exist in the domain of the living. The Western worldview sometimes isolates them on a wall, when they were originally meant for the human body. Here they remain, slight-ly abstracted, decontextualized and glorified.

02. Architectural Institutions

At the beating heart of many dysfunctional Universi-ty and community relationships is the word ‘con-cept’. Many of the major architectural institutions in Australia insist on using the abstraction of reality as a plunge pool to wade around in. In the abstraction of architectural education rooted in these ideologies we sometimes find cultural theo-rists acting as authorities on the built environment.

THE LAW OF ABSTRACTION

In the discussion of Indigenous driven design and indeed its very relevance, the starting point should not be using architecture as a vehicle of higher meaning through abstraction and amplification. This theory driven education is currently irrelevant to most Indigenous communities, arguably all the world over. A lot of architecture schools probably need a once over. This designing as if there were no circumstances and the infantilisation of people on the ground is inadequate, not just in the consultation but in the inevitable road to disappointment without any tangible built outcomes.

In speaking with Jo Noero in Cape Town one feels the discomfort with the position of architects and institutions in the modern setting and the inherent thirst for abstraction creeping into the obligation of architecture. He recalls an artist in America mak-ing forms in his computer and only touching it for the first time at the exhibition. Are some architects engaged in the same kind of disconnection? Perhaps Jo is right and architecture is held hostage to chang-ing fashion. Does this affect the restoration of an Indigenous driven design process? Not really, but it distracts the collective energy of many, with the obligation of steering education, its principles and engaging in meaningful forms of practice.

Right now we have some architectural figures that are leading architectural Institutions, coming from backgrounds in theories such as deconstructivism, wanting to test out new ideas on the unwilling Indigenous societies too powerless to stop them. These people traveling around trying to get involved with ‘spatial justice’ using the mantra that every-one deserves good design need to find a way to do otherwise. If we bypass the arrogance of the word ‘good’ in the discussion we move into to a deeper conundrum. The disguise of social justice might be the modern day small pox from the first world ar-chitectural community. There is a line between when catalyst becomes cancerous and when they help facilitate creative health. Spreading the toxic waste of conceptual design through the blood stream of the unwilling is another form of exploitation. 03. Abstraction of meaning

The abstraction of meaning can take on many faces, some useful and others not. Essentially, in the Indigenous community driven design setting, we’re concerned with the misappropriation of culture and the debilitating effects it may have. Oftentimes architects or designers will vacuum clean

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the community and use that dust to create esoteric design, which serves only the intellectuals made to chase meaning for the justification of their profes-sion. It isn’t so much the abstraction of meaning into space that is the issue; it is the practical outcome of the abstraction that causes a wider divide of respect between cultures. What one culture sees as a meaning another may see as dysfunctional. Likewise, what one culture thinks of as grandeur and purpose through exaggerated space, another sees as wasteful.

The idea of architects designing for the magazines can be alienating to the majority of non-architects. What are the materials and what is the story of each material and its relevance to the community? Is it be-nign or self-satisfying? Who are you doing this for? One must be aware of their own intention before taking on the intention of others.

Sometimes, as external design agencies, one creates stories for their own benefit or to swing a design off. To abstract reality for the sake of meaning, then to apply it back to reality, in many cases is becoming part of the DNA of the architectural profession that is reducing its relevance in the realm of ‘socially engaged’ projects.

In Llaguepulli, Chile, it is customary in Mapuche culture for the entry to be the east or south facing door. The north is bad energy, where the sun sets in the west is good energy and the ocean is neutral energy. Typical of current design process methodol-ogy would be to write all this down, shake hands and integrate it into a design. How do we move beyond the facts of door orientation and move behind into the essence of where these decisions come from? It is fair to say that the ethereal, spiritual and cultural dimension of energy has difficulty moving past tokenistic mysticism in architectural dialogue to date. To forego the abstraction of meaning is crucial to the development of cultural health and vitality. Until there are more Mapuche architects capable of car-rying meaning through their hearts and then, the ink of their pen, outsider architects must tread lightly around ‘cultural constructs’ as parameters for design decisions. 04. Language

Abstraction through language is one of the most influential dynamics in the restoration or debilita-tion of Indigenous culture and its relationship to the broader context of the contemporary world. Through language the Western worldview is able to abstract a single word and pin down its wings like a

butterfly under a microscope. Understanding how we use language and the difference between what words are true, what words speak of movement and what words are irrelevant altogether, is crucial to the progression of cross-cultural negotiation and sharing of knowledge systems.

Understanding creation stories and the language used to describe them is a huge part of respecting and understanding Indigenous worldview and con-nection to an invaluable belief system. To a Coast Salish Aboriginal person the bible is the land and the belief system is how one connects to all things. It sounds logical but the depth of the idea isn’t really translatable to English, as it sounds too mythical. It sounds like myth, but not to the Saanich people. To them it is history; they have been there that long.

Mi’kmaq elders Albert and Murdena Marshall rein-force the interference and restrictive properties of language in carrying meaning cross culturally. Albert reiterates the challenge of telling stories to the main-stream population. Albert is right in saying that, they are so philosophical that it is hard to pull out the practical component from the spiritual and cultural component. In other words the contextual isola-tion of the story from the action or the philosophy of that one story from the broader understanding of the world, instantly combusts the meaning into pieces of fire that flicker and die. One cannot judge a fire on the merit of its dying sparks. To appreciate it, one must be there to collect the wood, light the flame and sit long enough to understand the con-nectedness between the action and the consequence.

The abstraction of language also has the capacity to carry legend through time for the purposes of good. In most architectural discourses however, the major-ity is fed idealized versions of the truth, that aren’t so detrimental in their inspiration but rather in their tendency to distract us from the failures of architec-tural projects that are just as, if not more important. When reading about the Bopitikelo Cultural Centre in Molatedi, South Africa, one may read of the spatial dynamics that place the building at the inter-section of cattle paths in the centre of the collective consciousness of a community. In reality when you go there, the building is flooded due to proximity to the Marico River, a decision contrary to the original design and hijacked by controversial decision making authorities, and also burnt down from an ill timed snake catching expedition with an oil soaked rag.

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05. Architectural abstraction

Architecture is hieroglyphics to some.

The propensity to use architecture as a tool to com-municate abstracted meaning is rife. From a Western point of view, the abstraction of meaning as record-ed by architectural form, is a chance to communicate multiple levels of meaning over time an for others it’s just hieroglyphics. It’s not to say an Indigenous driven design process would not use abstraction as an architectural tool for amplifying meaning. What we’re discussing, more so, is whether or not non-in-digenous architects should be abstracting meaning from Indigenous world view, and the effects that, that pattern may have.

An architect is trained to isolate a building and its constituent parts in order to arrange them for a purpose, often sometimes, losing sight of that pur-pose. Irrespective of achieved or misguided purpose, generally many Aboriginal people will always have conversations and ideas about how else something can be used. While a true Indigenous driven design process still doesn’t exist, we will continue to see a pattern of new buildings reaching the end of their intended lifespan the day that they are opened.

A classic example of abstracting meaning through architecture, in this case art as part of architecture is the large black graphic on the floor of gymnasium in Seabird Island School, Agassiz. To outsource the design of an image purposefully conceived to carry a precise story is to decontextualize every element in that story. The reinterpretation of an Aboriginal symbol on the floor of the gymnasium is a shining example of the creative imbalances that can result in eventual damaged cultural identity.

The diagonal pine-pole on the façade of the Vivienda Social Mapuche housing represents the connection of the earth and the universe. There are a number of other elements built into the house as part of a valiant attempt by the architect to transport an existential experience of space from a traditional dwelling into a contemporary urban context; how-ever, these design features aren’t really in question. What is the role of the architect in interpreting the existential properties of worldview and the practical componentry of culture? The latter clearly being the easier of the two. In participatory exercises we must learn to focus not on the connecting of earth and universe per se, but the principles and values behind doing so - from here we can arrive at essences, not facts.

In traditional settings the practical technology of the ruka is ingenious. The inseparable nature of spiritu-al, cultural and practical rationale in Indigenous cul-tures is integral to understanding the sophistication of an under appreciated worldview. One may talk of fire and smoke in the ruka in the light of self-puri-fication without necessarily discussing the scientific purpose of preventing mold and material decay. A great mistake of the Western mindset is to separate the spiritual, cultural and practical rationale of space for the sake of measurement. This concept of the practical and psychological has ripple effects in an Indigenous driven design process. Acts of intellectu-al negotiation are purifying for the spirit. The release of creative energy as part of a collective should be talked about in scientific discussions about health. The two should never have been separated.

According to Alanna Quock, in the Yukon, the people of the Champagne Aishihik tribe wanted a community centre. The reality of such a vision is based on the raw functional componentry of the communities needs such as pot latches, places for women’s health and so on. However, dialogue between community and architect or agency may be totally incongruent to that of the community and government. The reality of the ‘needs’ of the com-munity as framed in the proposal, painted a com-pletely different picture. And so we understand the complexity of abstraction not just on behalf of the architect or architecture, but the community as well. This same model is common across many Indige-nous communities in Canada and is central to the disestablishment of certain elements of the design process. Playing Chinese whispers with the collective intention of a population only breeds disparity and weakens a tribe.

Abstraction isn’t necessarily always bad. Sometimes in order to lead we have to follow. Ironically it could be in the very abstraction of Western values and ways of doing that will benefit the community in testing progressive ways of bridging the gap out of marginalization. Alanna Quock talks about looking at regenerative design theory in practice and how it would inform a new process in community. That process consequentially has to come from outside the community of Champagne Aishihik. In one sense it breaks the long leash of control and gover-nance that has dictated built environment decisions in communities for decades by actually abstracting design process and regenerative theory to suit Indig-enous worldview. The task then, could be estab-lishing progressive forms of regenerative design processes in the Western context first, before

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deconstructing it.

Part of the Indigenous driven design process, is designing culturally appropriate tools for mobili-zation. Famous Haida artist Reg Davidson’s father taught him to make his own handles for his tools, because then they will work with his hands. The nature of custom designed tools by their definition is specific to the one who created them. It is akin to hand crafting a totem out of a huge red cedar tree. The task seems immeasurable, but must begin with the feeling of the soft wooden handle, molded to the hand. From here, slowly and firmly one may carve out a future. 06. Abstraction of knowledge

Quantum physics and Indigenous worldview are equally bound, as much as a solution divorced from its context is irrelevant.

In talking to architect Alfred Waugh one begins to understand some fundamental paradigms in the abstraction of knowledge. Generally speaking, the Western way of understanding knowledge is to isolate and decontextualize things for scrutiny. The simple difference between Western worldview and Indigenous worldview is that you cannot under-stand knowledge in isolation; you have to treat it in context.

Vine Deloria uses an example of a tribe planting corn in the spring, and hunting in the Rockies. During the end of the season a certain flower would appear in the mountains, which were a vastly incongruent and different area to where they were from. This clue in nature would tell the people that the corn was ready. The Indigenous understanding of contextual knowledge as a verb is such a powerful truth that the suppression of such intellectual capital in the architectural process is one of the greatest failures of our profession.

Sometimes in telling stories and sharing knowledge, we inadvertently abstract characters from their con-text. When Anita Epulef in Curarrehue speaks, it is important to note that she is talking about her reality as a woman who lives in Curarrehue and no other. Specificity is the queen of all wisdom. Anita sights that it is not a very personal thing to express ones point of view to strangers because she doesn’t feel she is expressing her view, but the view of the com-munity. The deconstruction of ego and liberation of the creative spirit is progressive here, as we not only understand the importance of collective

vision, values and beliefs but the ability to detach from abstraction for the sake of the collective. The abstraction of knowledge to be delivered to In-digenous communities in a ‘synopsis’, not a ‘novel’, is another great failure of cross cultural exchanges. People, of any cultural background, deserve the whole picture, not just pieces of the picture or the abstraction and isolation of its elements. To isolate knowledge becomes like many pieces of useless and disconnected information. Imagine pulling apart the components of a watch and trying to tell the time.

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O’Siyam Pavilion . Squamish

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The Outpost . Pafuri, Kruger National Park

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01. Perceived equality

Perceived equality is to want what somebody else has, because you do not.

In discussions surrounding perceived equality and the effects it has on participatory processes and the cross cultural negotiation of ideas there is one fun-damental fact; while parts of the Western conscious-ness returns to the innocence of the bush and some Indigenous nations struggle for an air conditioned, project-home-equality, we see the emergence of a distorted landscape of intention and purpose. The main difference always is, that one has a choice and the other doesn’t. Do built projects have the ability to articulate ones identity? Is the challenge in dissolving perceived equality and perceptions of want and need or rec-ognizing some of the Western constructs of design thinking as unequal and inferior in their dependency on energy intensive manufacturing and dysfunctional cross trade practices?

One can deduce that the creative destruction of an ancient worldview at the hands of a false reality is a confronting truth of life on the ground in some Indigenous communities. When a cultural group that feels as though they are First but the Second has all the toys, a debilitating phenomenon occurs whereby the satisfaction and self-gratification in one’s earned knowledge as a function of their time on the earth, is sacrificed and buried under the desire for the new. Perhaps this is out of the fear of one’s personal ir-relevance or worse still, the irrelevance of their very worldview. Architecture has the ability to bypass this if we develop stronger and healthier sociocultural settings first, before focusing on form. Here, form follows the functioning of healthy agonistic spaces for progressive innovation through negotiation. This is the basic strategy for the development of an or-ganic, Indigenous design process to occur. From this

FIRST & SECOND

point, we can begin to develop architecture.

In Mochudi, Botswana, people are now building with concrete blocks. When trying to build houses one must pick up the next available material and go for it. It may not be derived from some architectural idea developed by them as a choice or a reaction to perceived equality but perhaps through an innate resourcefulness to make do with what is available. If one can look at the bush as a supermarket, they may view the formation of the surrounding material pal-ette of nature as obtainable architectural potential. Would the development of local architects change the building typology, design process methods or built outcomes? Why does one still design and build the way we do? It’s not that the concrete blocks are cheap per se; it’s just that it looks like what a house should look like.

In Iquique, Chile at the Quinta Monroy housing site, the community developed small teams to help work on each other’s places. According to one woman, the Aymara people were abusive to the collective in that they wanted things done quickly but didn’t want to offer any help. This feeling on entitlement from within the Indigenous worldview is difficult because it is warranted, from a historical point of view, but how far does this carry into the future?

This story is common, which is an indication that a participatory process that unifies native and non-na-tive aspiration doesn’t necessarily equate to a feeling of equality. That must be dealt with in a number of different ways. Is this outside the realm of architec-ture and design process? It cannot be expected that the physical manifestations of a collective process and incremental building typology will undo per-ceived injustice between Indigenous and non-Indig-enous people. The entitlement of one, by the laws of equal and opposite reaction, subtracts from the entitlement of another. 02. Acceptance

What do we make of the very real social condition of calling oneself First whilst always feeling second. As Martin Luther King Junior said, “ Lukewarm acceptance is more bewildering than outright rejec-tion.”

Albert Marshall speaks of the burden of proof that is heavy on Aboriginal people today. The fact that they were once capable of subsisting with nature without modern inventions or agriculture or ‘putting

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a name on it’ is remarkably undervalued in a Western world whose consciousness is drifting back to this on the slow tide. For Indigenous people it’s hard to validate their way of life and to have it properly acknowledged. The burden of proof negates the energy of sharing. One is always forced to go on the defensive, which stifles the whole process of cross-cultural interac-tion. For an Indigenous driven design process to properly be realized we must address the burden of proof of Indigenous ways of knowing and embrace the spirit of resilience with respect not guilt.

03. The cyclical nature of colonization

The difficulty with First Nations and the subsequent second, and third peoples, is that the cyclical nature of colonization in some parts of the world, negates the need for counting and so influences our under-standing of the drastic effects on many Indigenous communities.

The Basarwa of the Kalahari, were the first inhabi-tants of the region, but actually originated from the north. Throughout history they were pushed down into the Kalahari. This awareness of the cyclical na-ture of colonization is an important part of detach-ing from adopted guilt and focusing on restoration through listening. When one listens to Richard Kro-eker speak of the tribulations of his ancestral tribe in Europe, and their subsequent migratory relocation on account of power struggles, it is a stark reminder of the hardships and dark history of some non-Ab-original peoples’ colonial ancestry.

The Mapungubwe Cultural Centre is being retrofit-ted with large silver air conditioning ducts to match the British museum. This perceived equality that reaches the physicality of the building and deters from the integrity of the overall collective intention is worth more discussion. The effects of coloniza-tion are affecting internally driven design decisions now. Is it the way of the world for these patterns to continue, and what are the ripple effects of throwing so many stones in a pond? What to make of the Second Nations? If it were possible to imagine true intellectual equality and access to infinite possibility, we may entertain the possibility of a longer discussion around who came First and what psychological effects this perpetuates in the ‘second’. For now such a discussion would be unproductive.For now, one must understand it is a fair and rea

sonable reaction to injustice to hang ones hat on the ownership of land to which the culture does not, by definition, own at all. 04. The second nation

Does the title ‘First Nations’ isolate the ‘second’ and perpetuate a hierarchical structure in belonging? We are in a long period of healing, whereby the tarring of cultural groups with the same brush is a necessary component to dealing with the genocidal behavior toward ones spirit and their land by colonists. What of the people that share a similar spirit but are not First Nations?

For First People, being acknowledged as people has been the first step to regaining consciousness. Now we must look at ways of bridging knowledge so that the second nation, in many cases now far removed from colonial ancestry may share similar values and visions that transcend particular traditions. One must consider that it is isolating for both Indigenous peo-ple to feel disadvantaged to the access of knowledge and non-Indigenous to feel disadvantaged to the cultural paradigms they are trying to help restore. Does one need to see something, or at least partially understand it to respect it? This is a fundamental question for the acceptance of Indigenous world-view into the contemporary thinking of architectural practices.

In Curarrehue, Anita Epulef tells of how normal-ly outsiders are accustomed to separating certain aspects of their lives – ‘this is my spiritual life, this is my work and this is my behavior.’ In Mapuche in Cu-rarrehue everything comes together in only one life-style. It is important then, when developing an idea or a project to recognize everything is connected from the beginning of the idea to the end. It isn’t ex-actly mysticism that is guiding these living principles. To find ways to transcend cultural hierarchy in the minds those outsiders or those that feel second and understand just this simple fact would go a long way in progressive, contemporary traditional thinking. It helps to be honest about what the second nation has introduced. Restaurants are new, in the same way that a cultural centre is a new idea. Instead of the community trying to adopt and adapt to new rhythms, how can the equivalent of a cultural centre be created with the knowledge of those rhythms? Both second and First Nations are missing an opportunity to engage in rhythm when we design by what we already know.

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05. Reality

When there is an established history of having everything taken from you and you’ve been deprived of the skills to function in a modern setting, the real-ity of perceiving equality is both true and justified.

Death rates in residential schools were high and have left a whole generation of people in a terrible state dealing with alcoholism and other things. The reality of conceiving of common visions and liberating creative spirits is all but smoked out if one’s cogni-tive ability to disseminate information and articulate their opinion is prohibited by something as real as Foetal Alcohol Syndrome. This is the sad reality of what colonization, residential schools and the stolen generation has burdened a people with.

Housing is such a heavy subject, with so many layers of history and policies and imposed government influence, yet it is at the heart of many of the issues in First Nations communities in Canada. It’s not necessarily about the appropriateness of ones home or the infinite possibilities of its form or relationship to the land and that it may be conceived differently. It is more so an issue of the government still owning people through owning their houses. There is no equity in their homes, which are then considered depreciating assets. Imagine being told where to live and that you didn’t own anything. How can one expect communities to rise out of these ashes like the phoenix and breathe new life into architectural practices based on power and control? The answer is most likely that you can’t and you shouldn’t.

At Quinta Monroy in Iquique, Praxedes Campos tells of how the Indigenous Aymara don’t celebrate the important things in culture at the houses and that they go inland because the urban setting is not pure. The position of the house or sunlight isn’t im-portant. What’s important is for people to live there and have a place and a house that it is equal to oth-ers. Perceived equality is not necessarily a destructive psychological phenomenon. Here in Iquique, the foundation for all is the same, that is to say that the repeated architectural expression unifies cultural differences independent of deeper traditional ways of doing and ceremony. Worldview need not always be expressed through design or design process.

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Free Architecture . Okavango Delta, Botswana

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01. Benefits of romanticism

Maintaining a romantic view of anything, is by defi-nition, to remain positive.

The very concept of an Indigenous driven design process exists as ether in the limited experiences of a non-native persons lifetime but the romanticism of it’s existence is what keeps it alive.

To be strong in a culture one must keep all their relations strong. In the context of globalization, the fast world and a rapid loss of identity it may require those of a non-Indigenous worldview to remain romantic about the benefits of Indigenous ways of knowing to keep the conversation alive and connect the younger, most influenced ones with the older ones. It is difficult for some First Nations to move past this now, with the distracting objects of the Western world. The children aren’t hearing the old ones.

In light of a global return to consciousness in contemporary thinking toward the earth and its limited resources, one need not elaborate too far on the benefits of being romantic about Indige-nous ways of being. The romantic notion of First Nations worldview and its relationship with the land is essential, despite it being perversely appropriated from the existence of the ‘coke bottle’. How can the romanticism on the part of non-native cultures and the subsequent alchemy around Indigenous ways of knowing, be used to influence established discourses on sustainability?

It is one task of architecture and agency to assist, if needed, to create these spaces of conversation and communication. Anita Epulef, from Cocina Mapuche, Curarrehue reminds us that if the culture is strong and one can keep communication with the old times it will become a model for other communi-ties. How does an Indigenous community, through

ROMANTICISM internally driven processes live in front of this system of globalization? The notion of Indigenous culture being in front, despite all it has endured, is the definition of romanticism but perhaps the pro-gressive contradiction to the paradigm of traditional cultures being behind may help frame alternate futures to counter those determined by cultural imperialists. 02. Cultural romanticism

It is acceptable to be romantic about the Indige-nous cultural paradigms and it’s basic philosophies and applications to the sociocultural balance of our world. In fact one would argue it is essential we stay romantic about this. To accept some of the diluted notions of Indigenous cultural practice by contem-porary Indigenous youth on account of the relent-less suppression of identity from left over colonial mentalities would be irresponsible. One wouldn’t force feed an owl fast food and complain because of its fatness.

Do we accept that the diversion from the values of Indigenous worldview and interconnectedness on account of colonial immigration as a truth? It isn’t a truth. It is someone’s truth, but not everybody’s. As true as the sun sets at the end of day, cultures are not static and they do ebb and flow with the forces that act upon them. The architecture community needs to be free of preconceived notions of design or building process and learn ways of separating cultural romanticism from the museumization of culture through tokenistic representations of form or interpreted meaning.

Internally, in community, as a mechanism for sur-vival, cultural romanticism isn’t romanticism at all. It just is. For the Indigenous Basarwa people, is the desire to return to live as they used to on their land after being relocated romantic or is that projection on behalf of the outsider’s lack of wisdom? It is a new place, we are all new, and places are no longer places. It would be difficult to expect to go back to exactly how things were in the past. Romanticism as a mechanism for restoring past injustice can be a recipe for museumization and doesn’t do justice to the intricacy of cultural relevance to time and space. Reading about a culture in a textbook is a dangerous path to destructive cultural romanticism. Culture and worldview can’t be trapped in words pressed against each other in the dark. It runs counter to the very verb based nature of a culture rooted in intercon-nectedness and the fluid and dynamic nature of how

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one sees the world and interacts with it. There could be no more exciting realm to be in as an architect. Why forgo all possibility of engaging in this for the sake of linear, rationale thinking and the safety net of established ways of knowing? Culturally for the First Nations people of Seabird Island gathering food from the land hasn’t changed dramatically despite the museumizing attempts of herding Indigenous people into gated reserves.Dianna Kay tells stories of government telling members of the First Nations community that the roads are closed so no one can travel. Meanwhile the community knows that the berries are ripe beyond the borders of the roads. So evidently people wait patiently for the authority to leave before they can go and collect the berries anyway. The idea that cul-ture isn’t actually dormant or destroyed but that it is engrained in everyone’s DNA and that the patterns of our ancestors guide our subconscious is strong. An Indigenous driven design process must navigate the waters of what is beneficially romantic and what is museumizing and in need of evolution in contem-porary society.

03. Realism

Canada and Australia are still living in their own apartheid while South Africa is moving on.

To be realistic about the current sociocultural landscape of one’s continent isn’t to be purposefully pessimistic or dark, but rather to lay cards on the table and see exactly how to make the next move. There is little point discussing an Indigenous driven design process without confronting the reality of our cross-cultural balances of power and freedom to land, information and decision making capacity.

Romanticism is in the eye of the beholder. One of the barriers to discovering and harnessing creative, healthy landscapes of negotiation is that access to ar-eas perceived as unsafe or dangerous to the educated and well spirited, prevents the presence of more restorative and progressive figures on the ground. Being overly romantic about ‘danger’ inhibits the possibility of connecting with places that contain, more often that not, the most insightful wisdom to benefit greater society. We need to find ways to break down perceptions of dangerous or ‘third world’ and indeed make these places safer, if they are unstable. If one isn’t in there learning from these people then they’re just assuming - which is worse than doing nothing at all.

In the case of the Makuleke people from the north east of South Africa, an interesting story of true re-alism played out. Bongani Baloyi, a local leader, tells stories of the Makuleke land rights case to regain rights to traditional lands inside Kruger National Park and the struggles and difficulties of managing the very real negotiations of practical and psycho-logical need. Upon receiving rights back to land, the amount of hunting sky rocketed in a kind of natural reaction to being suppressed for so long. Where does romanticism stop and realism begin? Who has the right to say, ‘we can’t allow you to live the way you did, because it is ruining the ecosystem?’ Realism may be an issue of give or take, not black or white. In the Kalahari, after winning land rights to return back to the Central Kalahari Game Reserve, the Indigenous San people, the Basarwa were consulted and asked what people really wanted and needed. It is one thing to ask these questions, but in the light of realism, when does one accept their obligation as an educated person and tell the truth of the contem-porary world. It is very thin ice for external agencies, in emotionally charged landscapes but the notion of realism and freedom to information, is something all architects and designers engaged in Indigenous driven design processes must face. The Basarwa, through a participatory process, responded over-whelmingly that hunting should be reestablished, but as Kagiso Jobe from Botswana reminds us, there are many more people in the world now, so how does one mediate romantic memories of what was, with the realism of what is?

Alanna Quock speaks openly about the Yukon trail project with the Champagne Aishihik First Nation and the associated realism bound to the project. There are definite established ideals of nomadism and self-reliance from the land that many non-in-digenous still retain in the hope of strengthened cultural identity and restoration amongst Indigenous people. On the trail however, through a negotiation of ideas, the people said they didn’t want to go back to the trail because it was hard work being there. This is a fundamental question of perception. What does one want someone to want and why?

04. Romanticism in architecture

First Nations in Canada face the interesting para-digm of well-established architectural expressions on account of their cold climate. In a contemporary setting, carrying these forms and their inherent meanings forward is difficult terrain for any design process to navigate, sometimes resulting in

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regressive tokenism and sometimes not. Richard Kroeker describes the tendency to approach ‘casino architecture’ in Indigenous communities in Canada, as the relevant design response. It is char-acterized by taking symbols and forms and pushing them together and hoping that whatever happens behind those things is culturally relevant as long as the structure doesn’t fall down. This is a destructive mentality requiring little to no perception or wisdom for future generations.

In speaking with Alfred Waugh, one can begin to see that there is a big difference between resuscitating traditional building methodologies and re-contextu-alizing their meaning into new forms. Here we see some of the power of abstraction and romanticism of function and how it can be used for good. For the Lil’Wat Cultural Centre, Alfred had the diffi-cult task of mediating two Indigenous nations and ways of approaching architecture. Since longhouses were never designed to be museums, how does one allude to them through form to generate respect and understanding in an emotional response but find ways to access the stories, processes and galaxy of knowledge exchange that led to the shape in the first place, so that those more pure driving design forces are preserved, not just the object itself.

Both nations in the Squamish Lil’Wat Cultural Centre at Whistler wanted a didactic approach to the design, that was somewhere between a pit house and longhouse. How does the architect merge these iden-tities without being tokenistic? Is it ones obligation to find new poetic ways to display existing realities? What is interesting is that the form itself can’t really be detached from the meaning that created the form, so in a sense the architects role here is made more difficult as they are no longer beginning from a point of what is not-yet-known. Under this logic it can be a positive thing in areas with less established archi-tectural forms, as the intention and cultural values are unrestricted by preconceived relationships with structure. Didactic approaches that attempt to transfer cultural ideas into contemporary settings is a difficult re-sponse to justify. As Alfred describes this post-mod-ernist sensibility to try and have something look native, doesn’t pay homage to what a contemporary Indigenous driven design process could achieve. How then does one express the multifunctional na-ture of a longhouse in the design of contemporary programs, without resorting to the architecture of the longhouse itself ? It is obvious how these new

processes may produce new architectures or new patterns and pathways of sociocultural exchange but we haven’t talked about how architectural space or existing planning strategies may in turn affect designing new processes, that in turn design new architectures and so on. This isn’t a particularly romantic notion in architecture to realize that the ef-fects of architecture are cyclical, like anything good and truthful. Process and outcome are constantly exerting force on each other.

05. Natural history museums

For as long as we have the Hall of the East Wood-lands Indians adjacent to the Hall of Primates in the Natural History Museum in New York, we will hold captive the spirit of a people that are still alive.

It isn’t to say that displays of cultural artifacts behind glass such as in the First Nations Pavilion, Montre-al or in courtyards of the Nk’mip Desert Cultural Centre, Osoyoos aren’t fascinating, its just that one cannot help to imagine a culture that was, not a culture that is. The psychological museumization through misguided romanticism is one hurdle for contemporary Indigenous societies having to interact with Western consciousness, but to physically muse-umize a culture in museums is an entirely different landscape of identity and purpose.

As President Trudeau told Douglas Cardinal upon conceiving of the idea for the Museum of Civiliza-tion, that a museum is part of a symbol of nation-hood. But what if your nationhood was everywhere, in the birds and rivers and trees that constitute our natural existence? The need for an Indigenous driven design process to improve on the established typolo-gy of living museums is urgent.

The Squamish Lil’wat Cultural Centre in Whistler is a living, interactive building. It was part of the collective vision for visitors to interact with a living culture. It is about trying to preserve the past while recognizing the evolution and progression of culture now and in the future. This mirrors the experience of Trawupeyum in Curarrehue, Chile whereby the living museum celebrates current cultural practice and facilitates continued capacity development and education of local Mapuche people. This a far better model than celebrating culture in wax displays inside dark boxes. This voyeuristic abstractionism is the highest insult to a culture founded in interconnect-edness to its context.

Michael Hooper . Graduate Design School, Harvard

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01. Who chooses whom?

To set parameters for the creative negotiation of ideas and exchange of knowledge from within one worldview, and then invite others to participate, in-herently excludes the mutual opportunity to discover the not-yet-known.

Andrea Cornwall writes about ‘invited’ and ‘closed’ spaces of participation. Most participation is made through Invited spaces, whereby an agency orches-trates where, when and who is participating in the exchange. In Indigenous communities, the negative repercussions of this have left us treading water for decades. We need to grow up and move past this.

Not only are we perpetually manipulating the eventual results of constructive exchanges of knowledge cross-culturally through inviting who can and therefore cannot participate, we often aren’t reflecting on the process with any real rigor. It is one thing to count the number of participatory design exercises done in a year between native and non-na-tive cultures, but who is monitoring the systems of invitation and the types of people being allowed to participate? We need to reflect on apparent partic-ipatory practices to not repeat tokenism. Once we have identified who is choosing whom, we may start looking at the ‘where’.

Sometimes in participatory exercises the reverse is true. Communities, perhaps lost in translation or stuck in the headlights of foreign ‘vision session’ practices, sometimes do not mobilize the right people to participate from a cultural perspective that can only be determined from within a community that has a healthy, political landscape. In these cases, the lack of invitation might result in three hours of role-playing and note scribbling with the wrong people, that one may never see again.

When Douglas Cardinal arrived at the Smithsonian

PARTICIPATION? in front of a sturdy top down structure and was asked to build a National Museum for the Ameri-can Indians, upon glancing around the room, there were in fact, no native people at all. If we set aside the politics of the origin of the vision, on account of the complexity of public architectural projects, we get to the truth that one can hold participatory design meetings for Indigenous people, without the inclusion of any Indigenous people. Michael Hooper, a Professor of Urban Planning at GSD Harvard highlights how easy it is for par-ticipation to remain so ‘glib’ under the guise of democracy. What we don’t often talk about is the demoralizing effects of self-gratifying knowledge to the ‘participated on.’ Most people are either for or against participation without really getting into the bones of how it works. We certainly aren’t at a stage of redefining and refining the practice specific to different First Nations communities, in many places around the world.

02. Arnstein’s ladder

Twisting someone’s arm until they say yes is all about manipulation, power and control. Consensus is about everyone agreeing with a vision. This is not to be confused with everyone agreeing with the deci-sions, but the vision itself. It is the vision, the higher power that paints the intention of all. These ideas around framing participation on the sliding scale of manipulation to partnership arose in a conversation with Douglas Cardinal about his own process.

Sherry Arnstein’s ‘A Ladder of Citizen Participa-tion’ is a useful tool in describing, simplistically, the different levels of sociocultural interactions in design decision making exercises between Indigenous communities with external agencies. Many types of participation are simply chasing ‘buy in’ from native people in the hope of progressing forward a project. This view of the preconceived and established idea being branded on community with a hot cattle iron is a minimalistic and restricted view of the potential of a culturally metamorphic Indigenous driven par-ticipation. When one listens to talk about participa-tory exercises ‘on country’, behind the curtain the exercises are usually at the bottom to middle rungs of Arnstein’s ladder where most negotiations sit. Even then with manipulative forms of non-partici-pation many people aren’t evaluating or reflecting. It was the very middle of the ladder that became the trajectory for this piece of writing the first place.

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Living and working in an Aboriginal community one sees tokenistic forms of consultation light up and fades like flames in the wind. It is disappointing to the human spirit, to watch intellectual capital be so suffocated or worst still, ignored. Most negotiation driven development practices still exist in Indigenous communities within the constructs of the Western system. The potential of participation in this light, is well understood and documented but even still quite foreign to many architects. Put simply, to move past rampant tokenism the architect that only knows what they ‘would’ and ‘could’ do is far less interesting than what the knowledge of the collective ‘should’ do.

It would be overly cynical to assume that all attempts of participatory design in Indigenous communi-ties to date have served only as marketing tools for external agency, for purposes of funding and feeling warm inside. It is a ‘practice’ and requires to be perpetually unraveled and examined from within the community each time. The role of architecture probably isn’t to implement additional burdens of loose-ended rituals of negotiation but rather try and help Indigenous communities communicate their own version of participation in terms that the broader system can understand. Framing participa-tion in Indigenous communities as a practice is a good beginning to redefining its relevance and then determining its existence under the same title.

Transformative participation means moving past the scenario of architect or designer saying, ‘hey I’ve got an idea, you’re allowed to talk as long as it doesn’t slow down my idea from happening too much.’ Many Indigenous communities spend a lot of time combating this invisible yet insidious creative imperialism. It is little wonder the emergence of a healthy, design process rooted in self-determined need is buried under the ruble of half finished projects, some communities are flat out preventing participation.

As a positive example, Douglas Cardinal’s model of ‘vision sessions’ that originate from the First Nation worldview give hope and spark the imagination of redefining exogenous linear design processes.In the designing the National Museum of the American Indian, a long process of passing the eagle feather around the circle took place under the guid-ing laws of respect that state there are no debates, just visions. By the second and third rounds of the vision sessions community leaders, elders and Chiefs are still speaking their particular nations vision but by the fourth day, they are all speaking the same

thing. Once it gets to that point, where they are all speaking from the heart, the vision sits above ego, or politics or anything and becomes a kind of land-scape unto itself capable of triangulating differences. Once established the salient points that flow through each and every person become clear. The patriarchhighlights the vision as a prayer that is connected to their ancestors and the matriarchs give strength and encouragement to drive a stake into the ground of the site and keep the vision true. In this sense, the exercise in creative negotiation and the exchange of intellectual capital creates a partnership that spreads responsibility, psychological ownership and vested interest to all.

03. Power relations

Participatory modes and negotiation based practices can become derailed from all good intention with unstable internal politics or dictatorship models of architectural consulting.

Ralph Erskine talks about manipulating peoples emotions so that they feel like they have made a de-cision while you are silently making it for them. The balance of power of external agency is poisonous here and has no place in Indigenous communities. As Dominic Cullinan in London reiterates, it isn’t about opening the decisions up to every single per-son, for in a way that would be an act of cruelty in societies that have disestablished cultural protocols and modes of respect that are incapable of dealing with the creative negotiation productively. When external agencies are in power positions to make important decisions we must find better methods of filtering ones motives and intentions before they hit the ground. Whether architects like to admit it or not, there will always be some aspect of pushing ones own barrow, such is the nature of the vision-ary, to see ahead toward what might be. If this is the cross that designers and architects must bare, then we need more honesty surrounding this if an Indigenous driven design process is to emerge fully and truthfully. Not questioning the power relation-ship between external agency and community is an Achilles heel of participation.

The internal power relationships in Indigenous communities vary greatly across the spectrum of cultures, language groups and nations. There is one common thread in discussion on community partici-pation and that is the danger of a stakeholder group commandeering a project for personal or political gain that in turn renders the majority of the com

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munity working toward the vision, largely redundant. On visiting the village of Molatedi in South Africa, one begins to gather an understanding of the power relations and corruption of money that unraveled a lengthy, yet progressive design process between community and agency. The Bopitikelo Cultural Centre, now drowned and burnt by an unfortunate series of events is testimony to the negative effects of unbalanced power relations and its repercussion on architecture. The burnt stumps and dusty bones now represent only a distant promise. The building, in time, may be revived. What is more important to recognize, is that even with good participation there is always the risk of disappointment when you leave a pie on the windowsill.

04. Slow

The major deterrent for involving people in the design and development of their livelihood is that it slows down the rate at which people with money, can make more money.

Participatory processes take longer by their very nature because they are closer to the natural rhythms of the human conscious and the earth itself. In Indigenous worldview, the immediacy of developing an object introduced or foreign to a landscape can sometimes be counter-intuitive.

In the Mapuche village of Llaguepullli, Chile one can conceptualize the importance of slower time frames in participatory process being imperative despite running counter to capitalist economies of scale. Developing a preliminary pilot project based around cultural fit between agency and community is essential in slowing down the urgency for participa-tory processes to reach a looming conclusion and it allows the swirling patterns of uncertainty and hier-archy of need to sit in stillness and truth to emerge naturally. Like an eddy on a torrent river Indigenous communities must be afforded ways to sit to the side, as the raging flood of new ideas of engagement rush past them and collectively digest the real inten-tions and values of the community and its future. A large part of the destructive cycle of dependency in a lot of Indigenous development projects is the feeling of being caught in a fast paced river with all of your energy poured into staying above the surface for air. Imagine closing ones eyes for clarity, while holding a notepad and pencil with its pages saturated from violent water. It is difficult to imagine a coher-ent state of mind, capable of enduring the participa-tion with such fervent chaos around you.

We need to build in longer periods of pre-engage-ment and literally spend time hunting, going for walks and sitting and listening. Until the agency and the dominating cultural forces that evaluate process change their definitions of deliverables based on time frames and bang-for-their-buck analysis, most of us will be floating down the torrent river with no bend in sight. One must be careful of being cynical, but there is a whole industry built around the dys-functional paradigm surrounding this manufactured idea of fast paced evolution and ‘fixing’ of Indig-enous communities. Imagine starting a life jacket business three months before throwing everyone in the river to drum up business. This is how some engagement exercises feel on the ground in Indige-nous communities. There will be no engagement or true participation, unless we value the slow rhythm of Indigenous worldview and stop this perception of adding projects to satisfy abstracted concepts of development. Granted, every single Indigenous na-tion is at a different stage of development and ‘need’ and some may require the sharpness of action, but for the most part one must admit, that with all the money and time spent by agencies and governments without achieving true equality at scale, one must question whether faster is better.

The First Nation community of Ouje Buogoumou tore Douglas Cardinal to shreds through multiple stages of a long drawn out design process. After eight design presentations there was consensus that the vision for the community had taken form. Archi-tects and designers need to be able to incur this time cost in their everyday business or the structuring of the system that they typically operate under needs to shift to allow for this process. The slow art of creative negotiation of this community master plan in Ouje Buogoumou resulted in a United Nations award for Village of the Future. Now, despite the usual disturbances of community’s post-design pro-cess and development, the community is run solely by First Nations and their University rates, according to Douglas, are much higher.

05. Natural participation

‘Maybe it’s raining and we won’t meet - maybe we will meet at night.’

The natural rhythms of community are strong and simple, if one is open to feeling them. The intercon-nected nature of random acts of creative negotiation and knowledge sharing in Indigenous communities silently mock the concept of introduced participato-ry exercises from design agencies in recent times.

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Nonetheless, communities have had to endure colo-nial systems of intellectual exchange in the same way they have endured many other aspects of outsider’s existence. The Haida viewpoint on participation is a whole different dance. Sometimes, there is this feeling of, ‘I don’t know this dance with you but I’ll have to try’. Cultural appropriation is a natu-ral coping mechanism for dealing with exogenous constructs of negotiation driven consensus finding activities. Because an agency satisfies consultation re-quirements by including three Haida representatives in the participatory process is this progressive?

The dance is still the dance. No lasting effort has been made to change the music, or change the steps of the decision-making processes. Real dancing is about forgetting what you know and moving with the unconscious rhythms of your surroundings not memorizing linear patterns and needing to turn the music off every time you miss a step; it isn’t march-ing practice.

Sometimes agencies can misconstrue or misinterpret a lack of immediate response from Indigenous peo-ple in participatory processes as disinterest or worse still, an inhibited intellectual capacity to fathom the concepts and intentions of the conversation. Usually, this could not be further from the truth. If we put the abstraction of exogenous democratic systems of negotiation aside and focus on the paradigm at hand, we may understand that it is nature, at least in the older systems of Indigenous culture, to listen, absorb and discuss over long periods of multiple interactions in areas outside the boardroom or vision circle.

It is easy to be cynical about participatory practices in Indigenous communities not managing to move past tokenism in the middle rung of the ladder, but compared to many years ago we have come a long way. The objective acknowledgement now, in archi-tecture and planning circles, that ‘buy in’ from the community is necessary and important, is only the beginning. When one spends time with Indigenous communities and listens properly enough to learn, they’re taken immediately back to the genesis of participation without the title. The cynical opinions of participation in Indigenous settings isn’t so much about the title and misinterpretation of what already exists as it is about the propensity to have to labelled things in the first place. The architectural community needs to create more discussion around natural versus abstracted ideas of participation and the propensity of the colonist

culture to pin butterflies under the microscope. It is like concentrating on the pattern of the wings with-out considering the forces of the wind that guide its flight. We as outsiders use participation as a tool to understand the situation and question the assump-tions one should never have made, whereas many Indigenous people just do participation because the alternative is foreign and sociocultural fertility and relational health is more important than ‘things’. The task of architecture and design processes then becomes no different to the practical art of building making. How do you take the natural rhythms that already exist and amplify it with meaning? This is obligation of architecture and endogenous partici-pation.

06. Anti-participation

Participation in architecture is fast losing its idealistic connotations as the ineffectiveness of Western dem-ocratic ideologies fail multiple times in succession. The most predominant anti-participation movement, at least in Indigenous communities, would have to be based in the view that so far it has proven unsuccess-ful in climbing the ladder past tokenism, with the exception of a few gallant efforts.

Is manipulation and tokenism recorded in archi-tecture, its materials and spatial arrangement? Do culturally isolating forms of democratic negotiation reveal themselves in perpetual authoritarian spaces? Conversely, can aesthetically authoritarian spaces be somehow conducive to social and cultural emanci-pation? All these questions of architecture concern-ing its relevance and that of the physical form are important but what of the intangible components of the design process? The most predominant and ur-gent paradigm in unsuccessful attempts to appropri-ate participation in Indigenous communities at scale, is the evaluation and measurement systems used to record ‘success’. There is no point evaluating success from within a culture that isn’t the culture that is in fact being evaluated. Is it fair that one could measure the success of a participatory housing initiative in-side Alexandra Township in Johannesburg based on the number of dwellings delivered and satisfied cus-tomers, without speaking in the same breath of the renting some of those dwellings to foreign nationals that caused more contention and no less strain on the housing load at all? To introduce a participatory process externally is sometimes ensuring its eventual death and it will lay soft on the ground like a puppet with no master. It isn’t so much the intellectual capacity or intuition of

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the external agency to create cultural appropriations of participation or to observe naturally occurring participation, it’s more that one doesn’t sit long enough to see it all unfold. In essence, we need more long walks and fewer boardrooms. In the Quinta Monroy housing project in Iquique some people didn’t go to meetings with the archi-tects. The new residents just built whatever they wanted and now the plumbing is blocked up from the increased number of new bathrooms. Some anti-participation arguments are centered around the disregard for buildings and sociocultural settings as verb spaces of continual participation or non-partic-ipation. Participation doesn’t finish once the building is built. In the case of Elementals housing project in Iquique it is the undesigning of a system that is the definition of its success.

A common theme with some students at GSD Har-vard is this paradox of the role of the architect and the insecurities participation poses on ones ‘bour-geois individualism’. If participation exists then why should one go to architecture school? The threat to ones credibility and being noticed by the ‘scene’ is a real inhibitor to progressive Indigenous designed and driven participatory processes among architects emerging out of many Institutions today.

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Shirley Lewis . Squamish

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01. Listening to whom?

Architects are not only notoriously bad listeners they are notoriously bad at knowing who to listen to.

Many architects never get around to speaking with the right people. It is one thing to listen, but it is another thing to listen to the right people. On larger projects designers and architects, as Jo Noero says, never speak to the cleaners, parking attendants and concierges, they talk to the directors and the money-makers. Perhaps participatory exchange of knowl-edge isn’t about changing the behavioral patterns of an established decision making process but rather about finding ways for the complex and respectful interactive pathways between people in communities that aren’t corrupted by their own unbalanced power relations, to emerge naturally. It is pure mathematics that to expect a design agency to speak to everyone, especially considering all that we know about the difficulties of listening properly, would take months if not years to manage. The task then is perhaps not for architects and designers to speak to every person but to let them speak to an established qualitative framework based around a healthy, sociocultural setting that becomes the director itself.

In an Indigenous setting, one of the biggest chal-lenges faced in an Indigenous driven design process dealing with external agencies is the obstacle of language. Often in remote communities with fairly intact language, it is the person that speaks the most English that typically represents the collective in creative negotiations and cross-cultural knowledge exchanges. Culturally, however, they may not nec-essarily be the right person to be doing so. Getting the decision making story wrong ensures a greater prospect of a project failing. Listening to people on the ground is very different to listening to the second hand information that is brought back to the Universities and agencies to dis

THE ART OF LISTENING

sect and spill tea over in excitement of new material. Michael Hooper at GSD Harvard tells stories of enumeration and mobilization projects in Tanzania where The design professionals almost always said ‘shelter’ and ‘housing’ simply due to the nature of their profession and their subconscious fixation on what they know. In reality when one really listens to the people one found that job security, especially with women, income and travel time to work were recognized as bigger concerns than the physical properties realizations of architecture. The question of the designer or architect is, surprisingly simple. Does one have the right to go above a participatory response and identify that housing is the mechanism that can facilitate all these things, or is the propensity to use pre-established knowledge as a vehicle for the not-yet-known obstructing the real needs of the people? This kind of physical solutionism is a real phenomenon that needs to be addressed in commu-nity driven initiatives.

Elders are the fundamental opposite to less appro-priate sources information. In the absence of those wise enough to see cross-generationally, one must find out who the decision makers are in a com-munity, from the perspective of the higher vision, not personal gain or glory. How does one design a Catholic Church when they know nothing about the structures of that worldview? For Red Deer Church in Alberta it was necessary for Douglas Cardinal to sit down with the priest and learn at lengths about the liturgy. One cannot design something they really know nothing about; they must begin with a blank sheet of paper.

02. The right questions

Listening requires an understanding that perhaps the questions one thought they would ask, shouldn’t be questions at all and that the eventual interaction of exchanging creative equity over time is quite inde-pendent of questions altogether. Of course, in arriving at essences one must start somewhere. So what are the right questions? Is the goal for some unformed discussion to reveal some-thing, anything or nothing? Are the answers truly unknown or is the question a Trojan horse for some other purpose? How does one uncover intention? Sometimes when direction and ‘need’ are unclear, designers and architects need to find the vision first, that will clearly state the intention. As Douglas Car-dinal says, once the vision is declared as a powerful intention, the universe moves, since you’ve created the possibility that it can occur and without your

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declaration it wouldn’t have. The clear vision is the eventual endpoint of asking the right questions in the listening process. The work of Marshall Ganz in the U.S as a commu-nity organizing authority is useful to understanding some dilemmas of not only asking loaded questions in community settings but actively self-reflection through questioning also. A major problem students have in entering some marginalized communities is the inclination to say ‘I understand your situa-tion’ when in reality, they don’t. This concept of extracting emotion and analyzing it from distance is particularly unproductive in lessening the gap of understanding, humility and respect inside commu-nities with external agencies. What may seem like a rational, liberal minded approach to question asking may be received by the blatant truth that the student has no real idea or capacity for empathy and the connection is severed.

Asking the right questions takes time and in the Western context time is money. One of the diffi-culties current Indigenous driven design processes encounter is the questioning of intention, of vision and the articulation of the essence of purpose that runs directly counter to the time frames of the agencies facilitating the project. The problem isn’t so much in the controlling of time frames but in the amount of essence able to be extracted and articu-lated by the external agency and the intention of the agency to either carry the purity of that essence or manipulate it into something else digestible in one’s own way of thinking. Essentially, once the dust has settled, whatever the design outcome, it is the people that live there that will continue the conversation and questioning. That is to say, asking the right questions isn’t a paradigm of only the design and construct process but more like a constantly flowing stream. 03. Abstraction through listening

The ability to absorb knowledge through listening and carry it forward for the benefit of others is a di-rect function of the listener’s ability to comprehend the essence and maintain its context. Architects are especially infamous for abstracting essences to create brilliance and delight.

Designers and architects are often trained to ask questions to arrive at new alternatives. Sometimes, though it is the simple things already established in Indigenous societies for good reasons that are required to be upheld. Alfred Waugh speaks of cedar being the blood of the Coast Salish culture, a fact

that is fairly straightforward and self evident if one is listening properly. To shy away from the known in the purposeful deconstruction of ones knowledge for the sake of true creativity, can sometimes result in the decontextualisation of an object or material for the sake of the new. Abstraction through listening is not necessarily det-rimental, depending entirely on the intention of the agency and that of the people. Peter Rich tells stories of engaging with communities, through observing, listening and physical measurement. He says, ‘The learning curve in community is that the footprint of a building often comes from the negative space of the yard or surrounding area’. How does an architect or designer, when there is no particular coherent vision or collective intention reinterpret that learning curve into a built thing? The responsibility then, is not for the architect or designer to abandon com-munities but rather learn from the ingenuity of what ordinary people can do and translate that essence into something people can see and touch.

In Tanzania, as Michael Hooper recalls, there have been initiatives to mobilize renters in certain com-munities, when the reality was that 95% of people were actually owners, not renters. Unless one listens before articulating and abstracting architectural ideas or planning initiatives, then participation or mobilization efforts might actually be servicing the wrong people. A web of complexity exists here from language and protocols to trust and respect. One must find ways to sit and listen to the dynamics of a people and engage in the natural rhythms of that community. We know relatively little as agencies about communities, hence instigating a participatory process divorced from the dynamics of that place, can be dangerously worse than useless.

The abstraction of ideas through listening from inside a community is at the very heart of cultural appropriation and the existence of an Indigenous driven design process. At the Mapuche commune of Huechuraba in Santiago, a new organization arose out of the design process for the Vivienda Social Mapuche housing project. The Power of the Hill is a self-designed organization from the within com-munity that provides a special scholarship capable of helping Indigenous people gain an education. The initiative that’s been generated as part of the momentum generated from the housing project is an example of internally created processes abstracting ideas from listening to the knowledge of external agencies. Essentially it is a redevelopment of the structure of an existing organization to be able to

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include members from many different families. A pattern emerges in all communities whereby small projects and acts of listening, to whatever degree that is possible, tends to have a domino effect on the realisation of the inadequacies of governance, orga-nizational structures or economic models. As always the task of architecture is surpassed by the universe of potential energy surrounding it. If only to strike a match and walk away, architecture has true relevance.

04. Children and elders

One of the major paradigms of uncertainty in future Indigenous driven decision making processes, is the existence and relevance of elders and the subsequent knowledge transfer to young children. For a culture to remain intact and alive this paradigm is being and should be addressed from within all Indigenous communities Many of the older people in Huechuraba, Santia-go weren’t raised in Mapuche culture. The act of teaching young children to create a better connec-tion through those children to the past is invaluable. An important part of any internally driven design process is the act of learning oneself through the teaching.

In the First Nations community of Seabird Island elders play a very important role in the perception of intention. Without this perceptiveness it is easy for a community attempting to navigate many physi-cal and psychological obstacles to reach collective health to become engaged with negative the external influences. Elders by their definition are wise in ar-riving at essences. It is difficult for a Western culture that in recent times, has designed the insignificance and exclusion of their ageing population, to fully understand the importance of elders in the commu-nity driven process of creative negotiation. Anita Epulef reminds us of the beauty in certain charac-ters capable of reminding a person of their purpose, by relating almost anything to their many and varied experiences. To see shared experiences with others inevitably makes you stronger. This is the greatest thing in the experience of exchanging empathy, understanding and humility. This is the power of elders. The redesign of education in First Nation worl-dview and the ability of architecture to facilitate this through space, has emerged in recent times in Canada thanks partially to the work of Marie-Odile Marceau and others. We are still growing up in

nego tiating participatory exchanges of knowledge in the field of design. Still we see examples of design processes that conveniently exclude the teachers and children that will be inhabiting and deconstructing the space. If one has to live most of their life in a space, remain-ing inspired to pass on knowledge, would it not be intelligent to develop architecture based in their intention?The truth of architecture is that, just as one can shape their environment, it conversely shapes them. Children have a way of breaking through bureaucra-cy as if it were optional. They see the pure function of a buildings purpose and what it can do in the service of their creativity. The omission of such purity in vision sessions is a fundamental flaw in design process generally. The level of education and absorption of information of these children, in time if the agency hasn’t listened properly, will be shifted by the architecture itself. There needs to be internally driven design processes based on multifunctional activities such as walking in nature, that triangulate disparity and arrive at possibility.

05. Influence of language

It is difficult in many Indigenous driven design pro-cesses for First Nations people to sum up the com-plexity of such a very big picture in a language that other people can understand. For Anita Epulef in Cocina Mapuche, the bypassing of language is both necessary and restorative for maintaining cultural strength. To invite others to be part of her living culture, and put over the table all of this knowledge, is to speak in a language that transcends words. The main contributing factor to this paradigm isn’t the intention of Anita or complexity of processes that provided the food in the first place, but rather the visitor’s ability to perceive it without language.

The role of the catalyst or agency as observer is strong. There is a pessimistic view of voyeurism and extraction without the benefit of language attached to observing that isn’t entirely justified. Observation without language is another form of listening. One uses their perception of body language to engage in the spirit of intention. The systems of measurement from external governments and funding agencies ar-en’t yet sophisticated enough to record the culturally transcendent results of engagement by the natural ability to communicate through our bodies. Until we examine what external influences consider ‘success’, an Indigenous driven design process won’t ever go to scale in the minds of the majority.

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The Bowery . New York City

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01. The known

Our heads are filled with so much stuff but is that where knowledge is?

Naturally, people want what they already know. We are creatures of repetition and find security in what we already know through some reptilian instinct. In the design process, this usually manifests itself as the development of some appropriation of form, left over in the corner of our minds from some page of a book. Douglas Cardinal notes that to him, these are tombstones of knowledge. ‘They’re dead; they’ve already been created.’ For designers and architects engaged in community driven projects the task may not be to kill their reference points for architecture but to firmly put them aside and make as much room as possible.

For the Nk’mip Desert Cultural Centre, in Osoyoos, precedent trips actively sought out the territory of what exactly is known. These journeys to see other museums, with eight or nine community members and about four or five planners, architects and museum curators were the very first port of call in design stage. It is an interesting idea to ignite possi-bility through precedent in three-dimensional space rather than from the pages of a book. Indigenous driven design processes by their nature are contex-tual, relevant and useful. The decontextualisation of meaning in two-dimensional precedent has far less thought provoking abilities as living, breathing and touching precedents. Is it purely a Western idea that the abstracted imagery we derive from books, and like art, can be used as a blank canvas for recontex-tualisation?

Do we need to be honest with ourselves about the limits of our conscious, or is it this simplistic under-standing of restraint that paints the field of socially engaged architecture a particularly uninviting color? It is difficult for a profession rooted in the ‘what if ’

THE LAND OF THE EAGLE

to fathom a kind of restricted palette for creativity, given everything we will discuss in this chapter. Sure-ly true wisdom lies in being able to do anything and do nothing at the same time. The real question isn’t in the physical manifestation of limited or unlimited frames of mind but rather of the new and undiscov-ered foundations of negotiation between intentions and polarized worldviews. That is to say, to realize together what you don’t know is profoundly restor-ative. From this point we may witness the emergence of new ways of being and knowing. 02. The unknown

The extent to which one is willing to relinquish what they know and approach each day with fresh curiosi-ty, is a function of the ability to ‘unknow.’

Douglas Cardinal spoke at length about the act of unknowing. This truth is beyond critical in the recognition and understanding of an Indigenous driven design process He says that all human beings have this unique creative power, and that it is really grounded in quantum physics. ‘The smallest building blocks of matter have no space time and all the elec-trons are totally connected throughout the universe. All matter in the universe comes into being through pure intention, creating unlimited possibilities.’ Ev-erything is connected and every action has an affect on everything around you. In this light, quantum physics is just a scientific way of explaining some basic principles of Indigenous worldview.

He maintains that we are all capable of creating anything and there are unlimited possibilities in our creativity. And that Einstein didn’t get to e=mc2 from what he already knew. He had to find that knowledge that was already within him. To do this, one of course must be willing to abandon logic, and let the combined intention of all relevant parties materialize.

Douglas goes on to frame ‘true creativity, in that the knowledge of the universe is unlimited compared to the limited knowledge of mankind and that true creativity lies not in what you know but what you don’t know you don’t even know. Creativity by its definition is creating something from nothing.’ As designers and architects we have a prerequisite of nothing upon beginning the thought process. It is in the very essence of this freedom that the thirst to re-store the creative imbalance between Aboriginal and non-native people in Australia. The effects of pure creativity trickle through every aspect of ones

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life, and is empowering to the human spirit, to say the least. What is our prerequisite? Nothing. Is it still creativ-ity if one adapts a tool from another worldview? Perhaps it’s not what we create or what we fix but finding ways to describe cross-culturally where the feelings of ‘creating’ are coming from.

He also talks speaks of traditional ways of develop-ing ideas creatively. He says, “the elders would say the great spirit could hold all of mans knowledge in the palm of his hand. That’s what we know and what we don’t know as well. It is all definable knowl-edge. From the edges of the fingers to the edges of the universe that’s’ what we don’t know we don’t even know. The elders would say, which domain would a true warrior play in? True creativity lies out there. That is the land of the eagle, that’s where the shaman resides.”

03. Preconceived ideas

To approach the creative process from knowing is to quarantine the mind from possibility.

Going into a design process with blank canvas and no preconceived ideas, one must find ways to frame the vision with people through artful listening and an open mind. If you start with the solution, you give energy to the problem that caused the call to action in the first place. The community has an indefinable amount of ideas that you don’t know about and this is swirling creative energy from all of the many thousands of conversations and exchanges of information that go on in the background of a community like clouds shifting through the sky, is the non-formed unknown that the warrior must en-gage in. The alternative is to predetermine the design outcome and creatively colonize, which is surely less brave and without honor. You can’t come from history if you don’t know what you don’t even know. So the task of break-ing through the paradox of communities always telling agencies what they think they want to hear is actually simple. It’s about undoing what you know. If you ask someone in an Aboriginal homeland in Australia what their desires for a dwelling are, many times they will point to exactly whatever the white man has, guided by the psychological disturbances of perceived equality or the path of least resistance for those trained in appropriation. Then the task is to dissolve or set aside that knowledge to wipe the canvas clean by finding better ways to communi

cate dysfunctional buildings through the stories of materials or alternate futures. This is a difficult task with anybody, not just in Indigenous settings. We’re creatures of recognition and repetition, and only very few have the ability to step outside and envisage something from nothing. The preconceived idea of ones role in a situation is also important to note. Nobody needs extra dead weight in a ship full of water, so the external agency must understand exactly how it is they can be useful, but forego any expectations of title. Once one becomes rigid in their role they suffocate the infinite possibility of creative negotiation and exchange. One needs the mental discipline to unknow whilst hanging onto their curiosity about things.

04. Reality

In the natural world human beings are capable of creatively shaping or destroying the ground under their feet. To take this on as an architect engaged in new design processes is to adopt the mentality of caretaker and steward of the earth’s resources also. Anyone not of such opinion should not adjust his or her opinion per se, but they should be more honest about their child-like dependencies on finite resources.

In Quinta Monroy, Iquique the reality of designing from the unknown is clear. Sometimes, the struggle is much more important than the outcome, and the part of our self that is satisfied by creating some-thing out of nothing is accounted for well before the design. When architects asked the community to choose between three design schemes, two of the three choices didn’t accommodate the actual amount of families that had fought for seven years to stay at the site. The choice, needless to say was very simple. Here it is the practical that takes precedence over the conceptual. Half building a house and allowing for spontaneous evolution is progressive to say the least, but the reality is that no builder wanted to build the project and take on the contract. Without being the community at the time, one can only speculate for the sake of discussion. Perhaps the energy of the community had been exhausted through the struggle, there were no local builders capable or the ambitious conceptual nature of the design agencies scheme prevented it from being believed until it was seen. Either way the community had to broker anarrangement with an external agency to build it. There is this balance between what you know, what you don’t know, your intuition and scientific

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evidence. The reality is sometimes one must be able to measure what they think they feel, to be able to communicate it to those that cannot feel the same thing. It has taken a long time for schools to appreciate the use of natural light in learning. Marie Odile-Marceau had a huge influence on bringing First Nation voices into the design conversation. But to satisfy the bureaucrats and funding bodies, while communities are re-gathering their strength, one must be able to tangibly measure the effects of the light on learning capabilities.

When Douglas recounts the experiences of de-signing the Red Deer church and has all the scars to show from that battle. There was no history of what couldn’t happen prior to designing the church, which is indeed why it did happen. Again, the reality of those warriors that leap off into the unknown is that they come back with many scars but you would never do anything again if you spent the rest of your life worrying about scars.

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Unity Dow & Family . Mochudi, Botswana

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01. Unity through uniqueness

In recent light of cultural destruction in Indigenous communities there has been an equal and opposite reaction by outsiders to forgo the usual boundaries of their role with the intention of empowerment.

Architecture and participatory design processes are particularly guilty in the experimentation of collec-tive decision making mechanisms and democratic negotiations. The point evidently, in Indigenous communities isn’t to turn apples into oranges or dissolve the fabric of a society into an impressionist painting of mixed expertise - it is actually the oppo-site. To recognize that the already established unique roles in society of a particular cultural group is uni-fying, is the first step to strengthening a community’s socioeconomic landscape. It is about making each link in the chain stronger and utilizing the existing internal processes to determine cultural position or political allegiance.

Unity in community through well identified and unique roles is best described in the Mapuche community of Llaguepulli and it’s relationship with external agency, Maple, who calls themselves an interdisciplinary team comprising of Ignacio Krell, Alison Guzman, Nadia Painefil and other experts. The most significant component of success here is the capacity of the external agency to live for long periods on the ground, in the community. A true interdisciplinary team cannot exist any other way; otherwise the definition of the term - based in a kind of intellectual crossing over - is distorted by geography and decontextualized.

The success is partially due to the capacity of Nadia and her family. There must be good leadership in community to anchor positive modes of sociocul-tural growth and prosperity. If it were one hundred percent the responsibility of the agency it would not work. Everybody in the unified collective needs

EVERYONE PLAYS THEIR ROLE

to have a stake in the design process, which in turn spreads the weight of responsibility that is the byproduct of intention and purpose. Prioritizing the dynamics of unique roles within the community first over results, in turn leads to better results anyway. Often we have difficulty evaluating the qualitative dimensions of human engagement, because it is the many particles of invisible matter that constitute the spirit of intention. That is to say, something you can hear and feel, but not see. Agencies committed to their presence in Indigenous communities need to find ways to value relational dynamics and coherent collective vision on account of already defined roles. A predicament inside smaller, marginalized com-munities, that through sheer remoteness and lack of resources, is that they must fit many hats on the heads of each individual. The reality of illness in this paradigm is real, and for community driven design processes, can be pivotal to their very existence. The unfortunate reality of some post-colonized com-munities re-gathering and re-organizing themselves is that often there are not multiple individuals that hold the fabric of a project together, but one. It is the best and worst of progressive communities, this paradigm of the champion. If Nadia gets sick, the whole system collapses. The inevitable pressures of embodying change and cultural healing can be enough to break most people. We need to be looking at designing culturally relevant management systems and systems of failure around collective models. When one thread loosens the rest must tighten and not unravel, such is the task of a truly innovate de-sign process that celebrates shared responsibility and multi-disciplinary approaches.

02. Visionaries

Architects and designers know the system and hence should know how and when to undo it.

One doesn’t have to be a social worker to work in socially engaged settings. The designer or architect must take responsibility and potential energy as an educated being and understand that their ability to break the system of culturally hegemonic control from the inside out, is useful for Indigenous com-munities. The role of the visionary in any culture is strong. The problem in a contemporary setting is not so much a questioning of the visionaries ability to develop a vision, but more so an issue of owner-ship. There is a difference between offering a new perspective and wearing it as a badge.

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Perhaps understanding the psychology behind self-gratification in the design process may help us understand why we are shying away from the role of the visionary. The ego-architect has, subjectively, earned their reputation for creating particularly use-less things that do not translate to the other ninety nine percent of the world. In light of this creative dictatorship, is it fair to tar the entire profession with that brush? The visionary’s role need not translate to acts resulting in greater levels of self-worth, but rather to that of say, a drummer who develops the ability to harness existing rhythms from the uncon-scious parts of their body through years of practice and translates them in harmony with something moving, something living.

The role of the architect as having tangible worth, an established skill set and set of tools is real. It is perhaps in the dissolving role of ‘architect as facili-tator’ that actually nullifies their value in Indigenous communities. One is less likely to take an outsider hunting if they don’t own a gun or a car. We need to be more honest about what the architect or designer can achieve and how they can do it better, not about how to handle their extinction gracefully.

The initial role of the visionary is what truly tar-nishes its image but there has to be someone with a strong, hard, heart capable of putting something on the table. The community doesn’t have the luxury of being from outside and the associated clarity from being able to step away and reflect. So the designer or architect’s role in removing themselves, at least from the swirling psychological landscape above them, is pivotal for constructive and healthy internal-ly driven processes.

03. Cultural obligation

In some Indigenous communities like Seabird Island First Nation in Agassiz, there are very definable cultural obligations in terms of peoples roles in the collective. Dianna Kay, for instance, is not allowed to drum or sing during ceremonies, such is her obliga-tion under her worldview. Understanding, even at the most basic level the effect that cultural obligation has on decision-making and design processes would be a profound improvement on what currently exists. In Seabird Island First Nation some stories are told and some are untold, depending entirely on rights and teaching. There are some words that one can say and some stories that one can’t.

This is just one small part of the etiquette and

the cultural mesh of the community. This idea of restricting possibility through respectful cultural obligation is powerful. The idea that expansion of consciousness is already satisfied by your connection with the landscape and the part of your spirit that wants to reach out and go beyond what you know, is satisfied through powerful human interaction and the overall social and cultural rights within the community. This not only grounds one’s reason for being, but provides a stable point of reference to structure creative negotiations around. In this light, everyone has something to contribute to community. Perhaps it is not in the sense of the Americanized version of participation, in wild acts of free for all democracy but in the structured understanding of cultural obligation, respect and humility for each others value and worth.

In London, speaking with Dominic Cullinan one en-counters the power of his ‘cabalgorhythm’ concept that offers a system of limited relationships between people who are sharing spaces in urban design proj-ects. Almost Indigenous in its inception, the idea of structured avoidance relationships and set proto-cols in contemporary urban settings that transcend individuals, is useful for understanding structured, internally driven design process. We need to be more honest about people not all having to know or like each other.

04. Tangible skills

As architects and designers from outside the geo-graphical confines of a community, one will always be, by definition, an outsider. Whether it’s First Nations communities or otherwise one will always be an outsider. Therefore, if one doesn’t have a firm grasp on the usefulness or tangibility of their skills, they risk being dead weight in a boat already full of too much water.

In the Quinta Monroy housing project, it was the self-organization of the community into useful skill sets that held the fabric of their struggle together. A team of women would cook and feed the communi-ty, while the others were protesting or away talking with architects. In urban settings such as our London example, it is sometimes easier to measure the extent of ones skills and their relevance to a process in societal systems that are more linear in nature. A lot of the blanket compulsory consultation requirements governments and agencies are demanding from collaborative pub-lic projects now are destined to be soiled by

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the reality of their decontextualized, non-specific nature. What we’re seeing now is these requirements alleviating the responsibility of the architects and designers from the accountability of tangible skills and limitations that they should have a firm grasp on themselves. As Dominic points out, the wisdom of the crowd can sometimes be perverse wisdom without the col-lective understanding of exactly what tangible skills are required and even necessary at all. The offer of the ‘cabalgorhythm’ is that we will be the architects are reminded of the tangibility of their skill set and required to call upon it. The doctor analogy again proves useful. If your child needs an operation, you may not necessarily want to operate on them your-self, you may prefer to entrust someone who knows how to do it.

Whatever the community driven process comes up with for a vision, it is the confidence and obligation of those capable of delivering the vision through a tangible skill set that defines its manifestation into something firm and useful. It is the confidence of the architect or designer that determines their ability to establish what they know and indeed their willingness to ‘unknow’. Doing so without judgment or superiority of ones skill set over another is the ultimate foundation for an internally driven design process to emerge.

05. Honesty

The design process facilitates the making of an idea from nothing, which in turn can be truly empower-ing. Leaving people out of that equation is not only useless, it is worse than useless, in regards to the psy-chological prosperity of a collective people. A funda-mental question that the architect or designer needs to be honest with themselves about is; how much of the inclusion of other peoples ways of doing or worldviews is going to dictate the development of the idea, keeping in mind that once one takes people out of a project it is very hard to put them back in. This idea that untalented designers end up answering this question with more clarity and climbing onto the sustainability and social bandwagon, is simplistic to say the least. If it is ones destiny to facilitate or sim-ply ‘fix’ existing problems then they must find ways to celebrate that uniqueness and honesty in that role, and not bring down the relevance of architecture in front of the eyes of aspiring Indigenous design professionals, whatever shape they may take.

One has to be honest about what it is they are trying

to do. If its design for ‘delight’ alone, then per-haps they’re role isn’t going to be in establishing an Indigenous driven design process. As Alanna Quock points out, there is always community pressure for architects to design something tangible. In that sce-nario, for the architect or designer knowing all that one knows about patience and incremental design as manifestations of emerging collective vision. What is one willing to do there, on that day? Are we equipping architects and designers through our Institutions with the ability to be honest, truthful and strong in the face of real community pressures? How does one communicate the multiple uses for architecture across the developing stages of inten-tion, and break away from the perception it is purely the construction of things. If the community isn’t ready to define the exact outcome of the intention then is one obliged to define it for them? In the Yu-kon trail project the community was unsure. It is the architect’s obligation here, not to resort to reactive design responses for fear of irrelevance, but to sit, still and ask the right questions.

As Michael Hooper at GSD Harvard reminds us, this ‘zero-sum’ trade off between professions is both ridiculous and unproductive. Shack Dwellers International in Cape Town is adamant and honest that they are not architects or planners or engineers. The subsequent transparency of this organization is what makes it so effective. Operating from a place of humility and respect for the cross pollination of interdisciplinary practice they are able to focus on what they do best - that is preparing communities for internally motivated development of physical and psychological health and the cultivation of in-tellectual capital slowly and productively in culturally appropriate ways.

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Lambs . Llaguepulli, Chile

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01. Power and control

The hierarchical worldview of Western civilization is based for the most part, in power and control.

Intimidation and fear is what successfully keeps most people inside the pyramid, particularly at the bottom under the pressures of the weight above. The hierar-chal worldview has kings, majesties, archangels and pyramidal holy trinities as noble and everyone else as ‘subjects’. Many Indigenous worldviews are circular where each person is considered noble. For design-ers and architects striving to detach from creative imperialism and the mass assimilation of Aboriginal worldviews this destruction of power and control becomes particularly important.

Who hires architects? Usually people with power and money. It would be too bold to assume the path to which they received such power and econom-ic stability, but one can hazard a guess that it isn’t through a flat structure mentality of treating every-one equally. These are the people, with power and money, who are in control building our cities and communities. To even pretend they are concerned with peoples needs would be a waste of ones breath. Generally, most governing bodies that rule over post-colonized Indigenous societies are concerned, underneath all the words, with maintaining unwav-ering jurisdiction over common people and achieve such means through the perpetual desire to maintain dysfunction, delivering housing strategies and telling half the story. It is power and control in the form of humanitarian aide.

If one can maintain the relationship of the doctor and patient, they will always hold the scalpel. To generalize about authority this way is dangerous and there are many people right now doing good work on the ground. But with Foetal Alcohol Syndrome increasing in Indigenous communities and life expec-tancy dropping, what power is letting this happen?

Much of this topic has arisen out of conversations with Douglas Cardinal who has spent a lifetime fighting for the rights of Indigenous peoples in Can-ada. He articulates the puzzle of breaking through the hierarchy well in the analogy of a chessboard. On the board one has their kings, queens, rooks and pawns and is able to make a number of moves. The opponent, if able to anticipate the moves that are usually repeated due to the pattern-based nature of our minds can regain some level of control in a system designed to win. The Indigenous worldview is akin to playing a game of chess with all queens. When we harness the power of Indigenous peoples collective intelligence in the design process, we can move anywhere.

In this discussion of lambs and lions, who is the lamb and who is the lion?

In discussions on leading and following we are reminded that if one does not follow the vision of the people then, as Douglas Cardinal reiterates, ‘the whole idea of democracy is a sham. It is a hierar-chical system designed only to serve those that are already in control.’ In Indigenous driven community projects one must be always be conscious of the sys-tems of governance that can undo all the hard work of a people. One must be careful that people don’t sell out on account of money trumping the vision.

At Saanich Junior High School, John Elliott speaks of trying to redesign the education system from the inside out to suit the seasons of Vancouver Island and reestablish the natural rhythms of his peoples’ knowledge sharing processes but it is very difficult under the bureaucracy of the culturally dominat-ing regulations. Interestingly in London, despite there being this impression that there are hundreds of rules in the ways we have to run schools, there are actually only three statutory requirements that schools have to adhere by. All the other systems that schools implement are learned behavior or repeated dysfunction. One wonders then how far this truth travels in the typical architectural design process and how many of the hoops that federal and state governments force communities to jump through are actually just well worn weapons in the war of cultural imperialism.

02. Flat structures

In Douglas Cardinal’s Blackfoot heritage, the struc-ture of decision-making is circular, where everybody is considered noble.

THE DEATH OF HIERARCHY

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Aditya Kumar from Shack Dwellers International in South Africa speaks clearly about communities and external agencies needing to eventually move into a partnership model, with the basic idea being that you must first make family before you can make friends. Relationships in cross-cultural creative negotiations can take years to develop, through trust and hours spent together. In a flat structure system, it is possi-ble for the architecture and ceremony of the space to transcend time and mistrust, through a higher shared purpose. The system, evidently hinges solely on respect and humility.

Interestingly in Quinta Monroy, Iquique the court-yard model dictated by the sites master plan has developed as system of micro self-governance among each module. The people ask each other for permission to build, rather than having to ask exter-nal agencies or government. This contrasts against the current model in most Indigenous communities marshaled by colonial law. If these external agencies are constantly arguing for autonomy and the res-toration of decision making processes from within the cultural framework of Indigenous communities, why do they insist on monitoring or connecting their presence to projects through policies that they control?

Is the training dollar in Australia really about capac-ity building and mobilization? If so then why are training organizations making money and people on the ground are not? It’s like complaining about burnt fingers with one hand in the pie. Self-governance comes from flat structures of established internal negotiations irrespective of blanket national policies of power and control. How do we take the micro self-governance model of the Elemental Housing in Quinta Monroy and develop a flat structure model between Indigenous communities and government? 03. Divide and conquer

One the most influential methods of suppressing the collective intelligence of a people is by scattering their decision making mechanisms and severing es-tablished pathways of knowledge exchange between community and tribal leaders.

Reserves in Canada are model examples of the divide and conquer mechanism. Tribes are split up and made to compete for federal funding in isolation while not talking to each other. It is the best way to keep a people down under the positive banner of the project itself. Publically, most see the ‘number’ of projects happening in Indigenous communities

and are satisfied morally and ethically. What we don’t see is the internal turmoil that bureaucracy instills on anyone trying to progress culture forward. John Elliott says, ‘it’s like running and your feet are just barely touching the ground.’ The community is trying to develop the language and have it acknowl-edged for what it really is, all the while dealing with the webs of bureaucracy and fighting for funding at the same time. These cycles of disruption will grad-ually begin to break down with more transparency in funding bodies and self-determination in Aboriginal communities.

These disruptions to patterns of leadership have proved particularly successful in silencing the In-digenous spirit. Federal policy in Canada passively controls the people by scattering the progressive momentum of leadership every couple of years, so a new chief and council are elected and the com-munity continues to tread water. It is common of culturally hegemonic environments to implement tactical ways to hide the suppression of leadership under mountains of bureaucracy disguised as dem-ocratic systems of self-governance. The architecture community needs to engage in this urgently in Indig-enous community driven projects. The role of the architect is never to be involved in the politics, but to dissect and work with the people in creating healthy political landscapes that defy the structured logic of the controlling power. This combined with language and cultural strengthening, would see the emergence of a multitude of community led initiatives just as innovative as the revival of language through enter-prising initiatives of the Saanich people.

The identification and justification of ‘need’ by a worldview from outside ones own is also particularly effective in dividing and conquering the minds of people. Although varying greatly across Canada, a typical system may look like this; the Band puts in a submission to Indian Affairs and they say, ‘show me need’. Even if all the chips are down and the com-munity is organized, mobilized and empowered on a grassroots level, if the power imbalance is still top down, despite the design process having come from within, it can be smoked out very easily. This is type of struggle is typical of how people may view the concept of agonistic exchanges or contestations as being one of reaction to a problem? It is perpetually unsolvable and pays wages to ghosts whose feet nev-er touch the ground. Negotiation based on reaction can be powerful but not as powerful as negotiation based on action.

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04. Romanticism

The romanticism behind the death of hierarchy is valuable.

There is power in many African villages because their honesty and lack of romanticism about the imbalance of power and destructive racial tensions. There is desperate need to create a dialogue around the history of Australia’s apartheid and reflect together in respect not bitterness. The role of the architect and design process is not to engage in the mechanisms of politics that restores a people’s po-litical health but rather assist in providing space for these discussions to occur, in good spirit, honesty and respect.

As Douglas says, “What do we fear? We’re not going to get off the planet alive anyway. Why not go for it? Why do insist on lying down? There’s no capital punishment for architecture. We’re intim-idated by all these scare tactics by the church and the state. You’ll either be poor or you’ll go to hell - which one?” It is a radical yet necessary view of how we must approach the design process in Indigenous communities, with the exception of; unless one is Indigenous to that particular community themselves, they don’t have the right to ‘go for it’ but they do have the obligation to facilitate this level of passion.

Being romantic about traditional decision making processes can be precarious ground. In Llaguepulli the traditional authority or ancestral authority, the lonco, is hereditary. They are elected through a process of community referendum but it is from a lineage and is believed to have hereditary charac-ter features. Hereditary leaders are not elected but rather it is their obligation. You can’t afford to be romantic about when a chief and a peasant may walk side by side and the depth of their character can only be judged by their actions. We are all human, and to romanticize about Indigenous driven design processes and collective decision making founded in ancient tradition, can sometimes be as detrimental as not listening at all. People are people and their spirit is what determines their propensity for restorative cultural identity.

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Hand Made Houses . Mochudi, Botswana

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01. The way

The way of negotiating creative equity between polarized worldviews is still, in many communi-ty-engaged design initiatives, a cartoon of reality and doesn’t go far enough in developing psychological landscapes of respect and humility.

At some point architecture will need to address this pseudo ‘lab-rat’ approach to community develop-ment. Writing and recording the behavioral patterns of an interacting species, isn’t progressive design develop-ment and immediately tourniquets the flow of an influential ways of thinking into meaningful design processes by treating it as something exogenous or to be observed. Humbly approaching a process of problems solving or idea development with someone, regardless of communication difficulties through language, is the way.

At the University of Cape Town, Aditya Kumar, from Shack Dwellers International provides a good summary of four broad approaches to agencies entering communities looking to find a way. The first it the ‘humility model’ where an agency approaches a community with the sole objective to first, connect on some level regardless of outcome. Relationships and trust are formed and both parties move on from there. The next is a ‘monetized approach’ whereby people pay to do research in more of a charity mod-el, taking food and presents for community to fight over. The ‘free-rider model’ is particularly destruc-tive, with no real agenda on the part of the agency other than the potential extraction of information in a third world setting. Finally and arguably the worst of all, is the ‘academic egoists’ paradigm, whereby agencies by nature of their Institutional training presume to have acquired superior knowledge from within their textbooks and tell communities how to think better. This conflict based approach from the ego is destructive and colonizing to the minds of the

unwilling recipients. The ultimate way, in all of this, is for agencies to approach communities and vice versa with the initial aim of building trust and seeing each other for who they are, not what they do.

For Indigenous communities creatively driving proj-ects from within their worldview, immersion trips to other First Nations cultures provides a powerful way of not only reflecting on ones own principles but also adopting new ideas from cultures with more similar values and modes of thinking.For local Mapuche chef, Anita Epulef in Curarrehue, a trip to Rapa Nui provided great direction for her and her people. She says, “A beautiful thing from the Rapa Nui is that they will ask for decisions from the ancient people of the island, from the oldest mem-bers of the community.” Facilitating respect through cross-cultural interaction between different tribes internationally is a significant component of cultural restoration and revival.

02. Designing for respect and humility

Architecture and planning affects the capacity for respect and humility to emerge or be maintained.

In Kamloops, British Columbia, Douglas Cardinal was commissioned to participate in the master plan of a native reserve forced to settle on one side of a river opposite a large industrial town. The principles behind the plan provide an insight into how design can foster or inhibit modes of respect and humility in society. The eventual plan, through a long vision process with the First Nations community breaks the mold of suburbia, which Douglas argues has originated out of a patriarchal system of top-down power models where women are controlled by fences and high walls. Apart from the successful and productive Indigenous driven design process that led to the eventual clustering of dwellings in the master plan, the predominant success of the project is that it builds a healthy sociocultural and sociopolitical set-ting that repeats and reinforces humility and respect, which in turn creates more projects born from the same spirit. The awareness that what one culture considers a healthy environment of creative negotiation, another may not recognize as such, is integral to appreciating architectural spaces of respect. Peter Rich recounts the Western view of a cafe or pub situation as quite linear exercises of interactions, of which the linear space is a function of the linear purpose. But what of other worldviews and cultures where that same space may contain soliciting, business, church,

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politics and assassinations all under one roof. There are worlds one cannot even begin to understand. As an external agency one doesn’t have the language of that sociological landscape and can only bring their known terms of reference. As Dominic Cullinan rightfully identifies, respect can often be better established under the physical direc-tion or definable parameters of space. The armature that we design to maintain respect and humility is formed and sustained in the built thing itself. He points out that there are often very good reasons why cultures build respect into the very architecture of their societies. In the Western sense, we have par-ty walls and floors and other common physical sep-aration devices that have developed on account of layers and layers of regulations over history. This is a useful counter argument to the dissolving of systems for the sake of starting from scratch. In Indigenous communities there are reasons why many systems have become systems for maintaining respect amongst people. In Indigenous and non-Indigenous participatory projects, what established systems of process are already designed? We are yet to find a way to articulate the sophisticated and complex systems of Indigenous worldview into something as commanding as a heavy book full of codes.

Engaging people on all levels of the process is integral to maintain respect and humility and how architecture facilitates this is crucial. How do we find areas or spaces that don’t exclude government or academia or indeed certain members of the commu-nity but allow for their interaction through agonistic pluralism in micro stages? Another challenge in the designing for humility and respect is that people are rightfully skeptical of ideas that are just ideas. The paradox of a non-iterative design process at scale is yet to be properly realized.

03. Two way learning

We still have a long way to go in mediating both ways of learning from native and non-native worl-dviews. The current definition of two way learning has troubles moving past tokenistic representations of itself as an idea. Perhaps as respect and humility grows between two polarized worldviews and the scars of the past have healed, the concept may actu-ally exist in reality.

There are some things one cannot see with both eyes as they are just too different. It is like closing ones eyes and expecting to see white, or staring at the sun and having to close your eyes. What is different is

sometimes, just different. Understanding and being open to the relevance or irrelevance of knowledge in attempted two way learning practices is essential to respecting another’s way of seeing the world without the attachment that it must be adopted or is better or worse than their own. What if one cultural group needed to understand something before respecting it? What paradigm’s does that set up? What we typically see is the dom-inant worldview of Western culture, in an effort to measure everything, frame their interaction with Indigenous societies with words such as the ‘domi-cile behavior’ and ‘treatment villages’. It is essential in the practice of two-way learning that one finds new ways to frame the information they are indeed wishing to learn.

In the cross over between cultures and between teaching and learning does one have to suffer or is there a deeper meaning to the interaction in the first place? Anita Epulef, a significant Mapuche figure says, that mainly, the most important thing isn’t the choosing of what points to adopt from either side of the two-way learning process as it could be possible that one may naturally exert more pressure or power than the other and there could be good points, bad points or some ideas better than others, depending on which way it is framed and the manner in which it is delivered. In the complexity of two-way learning exchanges, the most important thing above the ‘choosing of points’ or ideas is the inten-tion of the person or people. As Anita says, ‘very much good could be made possible in the connec-tion of these two worlds if we understand that the origin is the same.’ In this light we will all search for a good thing, a very good thing. If one understands that their truth is the only truth and pressures the other then it will always be bad.

In earning respect for two-way learning to occur one must first arrive at humility. For this to happen there needs to be somewhere for the outside agency to stay in community and spend longer than one day. One doesn’t get to see the real people when they engage in two-way learning practices over short periods. True negotiation and knowledge exchange outside of areas of protocol is just like any other community; it can be more passion than reason sometimes, but passion eventually gives way to reason under the established laws of respect and humility.

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04. Credit

In the war against self-destruction and ecological decay of our natural world, when will the time be right to listen to the ways of knowing that many Indigenous people possess and learn to adopt and adapt as well?What does this shoe look like on the other foot?

If we are honest we see that there has always been an ongoing appropriation of Indigenous knowledge by Western society. Douglas Cardinal maintains that, Benjamin Franklin favored the sophistication of Aboriginal decision making enough to use is as the foundation of the Constitution of an entire coun-try. A lot of archicture, in fact an entire modernist movement is based around living in harmony with nature. A lot of the modern medicine has arisen out of an understanding and appropriation of Indigenous knowledge. Ultimately it’s not about the appropriation or the appropriated thing, it’s about the credit of where it came from. If we gave energy to this, the world would look very different and the destabilizing forces of disrespect and understanding of worth toward First Nations communities would change. This isn’t to say that Indigenous peoples are chasing credit. In fact, in most cases the concept of justification of value is unnecessary and foreign. It is more an issue of appreciation and respect - a silent respect.

Feeling undervalued is the source of some of the most physically debilitating effects a human being can endure. First Nation’s leader John Elliott from the Saanich High School teaches the children that it’s no use being mad at non-acceptance of Indige-neity by non-natives, ‘one must just do something good about it.’ These words speak of wisdom and of peaceful resilience. John tells the story of a man who passed from cancer that warned him of the dangers of hate. The man hated white people for taking everything that mattered in life and leaving his people with nothing. He warned John against dwell-ing on the injustices of the past and reminded him to joke around a little bit as people have always done to keep positive spirits around them and joy in their hearts. John teaches this to the school children today. This story is indicative of the resilient nature of Indigenous communities around the world that have somehow managed to endure the passive genocide of the creative spirit with some level of peace. To not give credit to this strength is to miss out on the gift of humility and respect.

05. Demystifying Indigenous worldview

In Cree culture there is only one race and that is the human race. Understanding equality from this level of depth is at the beating heart of respect and humility.For many people the alchemy of Indigenous worl-dview and the potential for its polarity to disturb one’s own way of seeing, is enough of a wall to not see over. To demystify one construct of Indigenous worldview may help facilitate similar discussions. We, as a species, feel interconnectedness all the time and often pass it off as fate or the work of a God. Per-haps this Natural Law never leaves anyone, irrespec-tive of cultural differences and is the same defining principle that has allowed Indigenous people to exist so successfully for so many thousands of years. The question is, why has it taken only a couple of hundred for others to destroy it? Architecture needs to engage with this question or it is just another cog in the plow wheel, ripping and slashing the last of everything. One needs to understand their own culture and the essence surrounding interconnected-ness. From here perhaps we may find humility and respect for Indigenous cultures and begin to listen, rather than pass off interconnectedness as mysticism or an esoteric cultural construct.

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Morning Light . Madikwe Game Reserve

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01. Natural Order

In the United States when they adopted the Great Law of Peace as the Constitution they distorted it by leaving out women; a crucial point of difference in the future of a people. All life is in balance so how can one leave out half the weight?

The idea of this chapter, is not to reject the idea of male leaders, for there are countless who have done and still are doing, the most progressive work in leading people through adversity. Instead we focusing on restoring natural order in design decision-making processes, so that the inclusion of women, as is the case in all-matriarchal Indigenous societies, can bring the future of our societies back out of destructive imbalance.

A matriarchal system oftentimes implies a ‘flat structure’ power relationship in communities, and sometimes a more harmonious and wiser cellular composition of a community. A common roadblock in attempting to restore the natural order of societies is the intention to alter the de facto power dynam-ics in the first place. An Indigenous driven design process shouldn’t imply a redirection and alteration of the power dynamics to include mostly matriarchs as it is not the right of anyone other than those from within the culture to decide this. If intervention through colonization has caused a detrimental shift towards a male dominated power source in decision making, then I would argue it is within the means of the outsider to attempt to restore the balance. Again, it is hard to solve a problem with the energy that created. This could be a road to nowhere, or worse still, further cultural separation and disrespect. 02. Men’s business

The typical view of a patriarchal system in a Western sense is one full of men with ego, power and con-trol. Next to the powerful logic of matriarchal

circular world view, that defines many Indigenous First Nations, one wonders how power systems of control have been sustained for so long. Men are useful in design processes for a many number of reasons, the extent of which is variable depending on the character of the man. The ego, however, is not a productive trait in internally driven design processes. Architect Alfred Waugh speaks of his work with the Cowichan First Nations being particularly more fluid as he it was mostly women building the foundation of creative negotiation, takingdecision making all the way up, even through the chief. Women are leading Indigenous driven design processes in many First Nations groups in Canada. Men have a propensity to let their ego’s get in the way, while women can sometimes have a broader vision. One may occasionally encounter male native leaders that are more interested in seeing what they can get out of the seat in the limited time before they elect a new Chief.

Architects and external agencies working with the Chief who is constantly fluffing their feathers is an unproductive listening process incapable of gener-ating real intentions and results. Older women are less likely to have a desire for self-justification. After all, they are the ones who raised the chiefs from the womb, are they not? 03. Women’s business

You strike a woman, you strike a rock.

It is said that in the African context it’s the women who hold up the sky. Women understand the process of being respected, understood and honored. The madness of buying into the alternative that eliminat-ed their presence is almost incomprehensible. The logic of matriarchal system as a mechanism in the design process is based on loving, caring and respect - three areas that threaten power, control, intimida-tion and fear; the cornerstones for cultural hege-mony. Douglas Cardinal reminds us of the wisdom of female elders in First Nations communities; ‘the soft power of love is much more powerful than the hard power of force.’ Some people have a tendency to see loving and caring as a weakness. What they don’t understand is that loving and caring is the basis of human life. External agencies get nowhere in Indigenous communities by beating people over the head with their ideas. Engagement and progressive creative negotiation is through connecting with peo-ple. Human beings need this desperately. How

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can we expect to use architecture as a mechanism for compassion and cultural restoration if the processes to which we create architecture are founded in pow-er, control or creative colonization? In First Nations Canada, women had a lot of power. They would raise people and know which people were leaders by their nature and their bloodline. In the balance of power between men and women, it was largely matriarchal. As Douglas says, ‘You may not know who your father is but you know who your mother is.’

In Haida culture, everything goes through the moth-er. All lineages are passed through the females. For example Joanne Yovanovich’s clan is the eagle clan and she carries this crest. Who one is and whom one belongs to come directly through their mother.

To understand and appreciate one’s male or female lineage is essential for an Indigenous driven design process to communicate the streams of its creative endeavors to that of the non-native community. To describe new ways of negotiating ideas through softer, more respectful practices of internal partic-ipation we must reflect and appreciate where we all come from.

04. Decision making roles

Of the two vastly incongruent worldviews - patriar-chal and matriarchal - one must be able to position oneself in the realm under which the majority of decision making is operating under. In other words, what mechanisms do the aperture for design ideas pass through and what is the design process framed around? We should be talking more about decision-making processes in design from within a matriarchal worldview. Could architecture engage with it? Does the fundamental success of the design process rely on the decontextualisation of one per-son to carry out ideas of the political landscape to be realized and can this happen just as effectively in flat structures?

People confuse weakened decision making with flat structures, harmony and balance in common vision processes but this isn’t the case. Where healthy ago-nistic pluralism thrives, the landscape to which each individual’s strength of self, and clarity of decision is solidified or amplified by the unifying of the whole. In other words, each voice doesn’t become louder, which we usually identify with a decision-making role, each voice becomes stronger. The unifying vision that is born out of that voice is a stronger

decision-making mechanism in society than some patriarchal systems that can perpetuate dysfunction and divide.

Peter Rich speaks of a South Africa of shamans and witch doctors and whole civilizations led by women. None of the female decision-making systems were recorded in any of the written laws led by the colo-nials. In fact much has been done to be disparaging about the internal decision making mechanisms of Africa so immigrants could exploit it. If the decision-making capacity of a community isn’t working then the design process can never be done properly. The dysfunction will stain the story of the project and it will be forever tainted. In some respects the etiquette of how people relate to each other is more important than the outcome of the ne-gotiation or interaction. If the relationship between external agency and community is cancerous the chances are the agency will be extradited immediate-ly, such is the power of many matriarchal societies. The punishment for disrespect on the part of the stranger can be swift and permanent.

Wisdom . Alexandra Township, Johannesburg

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Kagiso Jobe . Mochudi, Botswana

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01. Flat structures

Flat economic structures imply a circular nature to the accumulation of individual wealth, usually to be distributed for the betterment of all. In some Indigenous communities the philosophy of family obligation, defies linear perceptions or capitalist logic of wealth as a ladder waiting to be climbed that takes one’s feet further and further off the ground.

There is much to be learnt from cultural constructs that are rooted in care for those around you.

If the universe is plentiful then anyone that tells you money is the seed to which a project should sprout, is lying and has missed the very point of intelligent design. A project should start with a vision. If the design development is wise, and the resources and skills of the community are utilized correctly, the discussion of money should be centered around the circular distribution of enterprise and microeco-nomic activity generated by the project existence, not how much money is won or lost in the hands of those already swinging in the wind at the top of the ladder.

Dianna Kay from Seabird Island School articulat-ed the concept of Indigenous worldview and the perception of money as being the biggest tangible difference in cultures. Economic gain is seen as ‘we have money’, not ‘I have money’ or ‘we got paid’, not ‘I got paid’. The misconception that, because of these flat economic structures and values based in sharing that money has no place, is incorrect. Survival people gravitate to a source of income. Economics is well suited to a people used to sur-viving through making things and negotiation based exchanges. The task of the design process is to not only take advantage of the fine grain economic threads of sharing that weave through a community but value the essence of what makes this possible, in

COMMON CENTS

sociocultural s the manifestation of meaningful and self-managing ettings.

In Osoyoos Indian Band, in inland British Columbia, Chief Clarence Louis speaks of the flat structured nature of the Band’s economic strategy for overall community health. Profit sharing between floor sweepers and upper management is an indication of the strength of a collective consciousness despite being deprived of ‘physical things.’ Cultural ways-of-doing are built into the economic strategy of the community. If there is a funeral on the reservation everybody gets the day off, likewise tribal and job preferences, leave and sick time are all constructs of an Indigenous driven economic system. If goose hunting takes precedent over a business day, what does that do to the established system of the cash economy? You can’t eat money but you can eat a goose. In an energy uncertain future, perhaps the ‘perceived first world’ could collaborate with new ways of viewing business, time and money.

02. Native capitalism

Coined by Chief Clarence himself, the term despite conjuring up images of cultural decay or irreversible assimilation, speaks more of a people trained in the art of cultural appropriation, determined that if they are to endure the company of those who attempted to end them, then they must learn the new dance in order to find rhythm again.

How do you develop a business model derived out of an Indigenous worldview? As we speak there are Universities currently asking the same question. The answer, as always may not be something new but rather an appropriation of something old. If the principles of culture and value are maintained and language is revived, there is no reason equality can’t be found in resorting to capitalism. The line will be thin and the ground shaky if native capitalism is to be explored at scale. The alluring effects of mon-ey over men can be strong. It is so far, so good in Osoyoos.

Jackson Triggs, one of the best wine producers in Canada partnered with Osoyoos Indian Band in the ownership of a winery. It is part of a greater site whereby the Indigenous people still own the land but they lease the land for a golf course and have built a desert spa resort and the Nk’mip Desert Cul-tural Centre. All are completely run from within the community and all provide mechanisms that create jobs and make money for local Band members.

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Chief Clarence wills his people to get involved in business because ‘the non-natives won’t look after you.’ Non-native governments haven’t worked with native groups in a business partnership and enter-prise sense, frankly because it would put too many people out of jobs. The long leash of welfare is a far better mechanism for power and control. Indigenous people, with the sociocultural setting to do so, have got to start making their own money, creating their own jobs. To break out of the cycle of dependence, remote communities face far greater challenges. It is difficult for architecture and design processes to engage in these patterns of culture, government and money but since the very existence of any project depends on all three, it is wise to understand them. The priority for architects and communities in creative exchanges of knowledge is to develop ways for sociocultural settings to be fertile and open to markets and trading systems.

Does it take capitalism to destroy capitalism?

03. New economic models

Romantic notions of economic systems that defy the global cash economy are emerging all over the world. The Brixton Pound in London is one such example. To assume such a return to innocence in Indigenous community’s post-assimilatory tactical genocide, is risking romanticism or museumization and perhaps asphyxiating the opportunity for something new by denying the appropriation of something old.

In the past Indigenous communities, including Euro-pean, traded goods and services not money.Now, people are attached to the money and money equals opportunity. From an Indigenous perspec-tive looking generationally at the overall health and strength of tribes, it is clear that the dominant tribes of the world all possess large amounts of money - such is the nature of cash, not so much for power, but as tool. It can be a weapon against poverty and inequality. The value in the discussion isn’t in the interaction with paper money, as if it were a choice, but the new economic models derived out of Indigenous worldview that might reshape the perception of how money works and what it can do. As Dominic Cullinan reiterates, it is actually a Marxist idea of creating internal markets that are value systems, like the current Brixton Pound, that are outside the larg-er capitalist system that some people are returning to. They have medieval origins for European people. They are alternative systems that allow smaller com-munities to

develop successful interactions amongst themselves that are never the less related to the wider system. How then are contemporary Indigenous societies responding to new economic means of sustainment without the resources to engage in native capital-ism. Interestingly, in the Mapuche community of Llaguepulli, Chile we are seeing the reemergence of an architectural typology capable of representing or carrying meaning. The revival of the ruka is linked to the revival of mutual support and freeing oneself from the monetary economy. In collaboration with Maple, the concept of internally managed financial solutions didn’t come from Maple marketing the idea to the community of Llaguepulli, it came from a historical need for a Banco Mapuche that was never realized, but the conversations that surrounded it were expressions of a deeper intention to develop new economic modes based on cultural values.

These new modes of sustainment and innovate design thinking driven from within the community don’t come from one origin or person, but from a series of stories and intentions over long periods of time. Those wishing to engage in Indigenous driven economic models, must heed the wisdom of Maple, and be aware of how long such complicated acts of cultural appropriation take.

In remote areas of economic immaturity and market isolation, how does the process of developing design decisions for a project intentionally hardwire opportunity and connection to continuing modes of sustainment through economic activities, trading systems and skill development that continue to grow long after the paint has dries? Architecture and its fundamental physical manifestation in shelter may provide this role in developing the behavioral patterns of society to self-organize and participate under the laws of their particular worldview, which would in turn surely give birth to new economic models and means of financial sustainment.

Think trade organizations, savings and investments in international capital, training and intellectual cap-ital as satellite economic models. The trickle down effect of self-organization and overall internal com-munity health reaches right down to new economic models. In other words, its not that an Indigenous driven design process may create economic inde-pendence or new economic models per se, but that it might set up a political and socially restorative landscape to which they may arise naturally.

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04. Self-reliance

It is barely necessary to talk of the self-reliance of the longest surviving cultures on earth. But in light of improper power relationships and cycles of dependency established on account of the darkness of our recent past, it is necessary to consider the importance of economic self-reliance in Indigenous communities and the effects it has on the psycholog-ical and physical landscape that holds them.

The priority right now, for the Mapuche people of Llaguepulli is access to land. Some families have nothing, especially the young people. To live closer to a traditional Mapuche life, one requires a lot more land. There are a lot of Mapuche wanting to return home and live traditionally but the access to land is restricted. Even with strong intention and vision for a strong Indigenous way of life, prospects are low due to a lack of land access. Self-reliance in this sense, doesn’t hinge around enterprising modes of sustainment or integration with global market systems, but rather in the simple act of living off the land and maintaining work ethic, pride and health.

For some Indigenous communities in the north-western parts of Australia, the cold, hard reality of learning impairment on account of Foetal Alcohol Syndrome has major repercussions in the capacity for self-determined entrepreneurship and business structures that are creatively designed from within Indigneous communities. Even in areas of unim-paired learning capacity, the argument for the right to self-determination and economic independence is irrelevant under a patriarchal, top-down system of government. Dust to the wind.

Considering the economic benefit for governments, at least on paper, the design for self-reliance in Indigenous communities makes a lot of sense. The astronomical amounts of money spent on ‘capacity building’ in Aboriginal settlements without the tan-gible results of self-reliance, is testimony to the just how long the leash of economic control can stretch. There are already copious amounts of literature surrounding the involvement of people in process and its economic benefits on account of long term psychological ownership of places, so there is little need to elaborate. However, what could be interest-ing is, instead of spending money involving people in design projects conceived by external agencies and governments, one could spend outside investment budgets on more non-descript design practices that built the internal economic infrastructure of a com-munity without relying on external forces to hold the

structure together. Like a piece of fruit, the nutrition of a community is in their enveloping structure - including, quite predominantly, their economic strat-egy. Would this design the government out of a job?

Often, governments and agencies are notorious for stone walling self-reliance possibilities simply by their insistent desire to solve problems that they themselves have designed. In many respects the existence of the cash economy, like high-turnover governments, actually relies on dysfunction. It is human nature in patriarchal systems to design boxes that need fixing.

05. Space ships

Space ships. How do you drive them?

Large projects standing alone, resting solemnly like space ships, usually come from big budgets dispro-portionate to the collective wealth of those around it and are intimidating entities for communities that, in some ways, are unprepared for such leaps forward. Scale can be an empowering characteristic of many of these projects as it speaks of permanency, rele-vance and the chance to live and evolve as a people beyond the reality of ones suppression. But if the microeconomic structures and business acumen of a community hasn’t been established, whether that be through adapting Western capitalist logic or developing unique trading systems capable of having measurable worth cross culturally, then the projects sink into irrelevance and can end up serving as a kind of holocaust memorial to cross cultural negoti-ation practices and knowledge sharing. Projects need the inertia of established systems of commerce to engage; otherwise they become scrap heaps sold for parts in the minds of the community.

The role of a well established internally driven de-sign process based in economic realism, is to be able to communicate and develop larger public jobs in Indigenous communities whereby in characterizing operations costs through design stories, the com-munity may accurately shape the process based in culture but also in the economic realities of materials and labor. The front end of a design process can tick all the boxes of restorative cultural practices and still have an unhappy ending if the building becomes a monster nobody can control, afford to run or worse still, have knowledge on how to operate it.

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Loom . Llaguepulli, Chile

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Loom 2 . Llaguepulli, Chile

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Determination . Mochudi, Botswana

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01. Earned money

Sweat is creative currency. When ones mind and body become active, they become very rich indeed.

Written in bold across the stone of the Osoyoos Indian Band administration office is; ‘Native People Have Always Worked for a Living’. Chief Clarence Louis recalls that before white people came around and made them have ‘sit-down’ money, everybody worked for a living because one had to provide for their own food, clothing and shelter. He is adamant First Nations people will find a way to regain their work ethic and break the cycle of dependency. The difference between earned money and handout money is a pivotal difference in Indigenous driven processes and the creative and physical health that allows the collective to operate autonomously.

At Quinta Monroy in the city of Iquique, Chile the intellectual capital and independence earned from a long struggle and design process, has generated internal systems of capacity and strength that are active irrespective of government or external agency. The sharing of practical skills inside the courtyard quadrants of the housing clusters has birthed inde-pendent micro communities, which as a group, raise money for materials for the building of each others houses.

Praxedes Campos, a local leader-come-activist and motherly figure, explains that if one sees the project now, they may conceptualize the struggle for a group of people of lower socioeconomic status, earning and gathering small amounts of money to build a community together. In reality the 170,000 pesos they raised together would never have been enough to build what was built. The salient point in this isn’t the result of the buildings and their success in sheltering people and their families, but more so the value in money earned. This divergence from the welfare mentality and reliance on government

doesn’t necessarily equate to a complete severance of the economic relationship altogether. When one party understands the weight of economic con-tribution in terms of negotiation matched against their hard earned pesos, it is a healthier balance of gratitude and acceptance. Knowledge or cultural creative equity is money in the eyes of many. The Saanich Indian School board used education to bring back together four com-munities that the State had broken apart in order to scatter the knowledge-sharing pathways and sever the intellectual capacity of the First Nations people. Typical of many First Nations communities, the onus falls on earning the currency of knowledge first to restore good health. That’s not to say many aren’t engaged in what Clarence Louis calls, ‘Native Capitalism’, but it is a common thread that weaves through Indigenous worldview to hold knowledge more sacred than paper. 02. Insects

Douglas Cardinal defines the backbone to a society that has severed the dialogue between sweat and hard earned rewards. The Industrial Revolution divided families and produced this unnatural devolu-tion of thinking, turning people into insects capable of following each other in a line, shuffling paper all day. The human condition struggles to survive under such unnatural pressures.

He is correct in saying First Nations people aren’t programmed like other people and that after fifteen thousand years under agrarian and largely matriar-chal civilization they’ve been forcibly controlled by a distorted system of sweat equity. In the past, Indige-nous communities in what is now known as Canada, would group together in an act of planting. This kind of sociocultural fabric that societies based on doing and producing, not sitting idle and consuming, were held together by is exactly what contemporary First Nations must reacquire. The swarm of bees looking for a bee hive and like-wise the dream of the architect looking for the hive is an analogy that emerged from a discussion with Dominic Cullinan in London about the inherent programming of human beings that seek to find har-mony in sociocultural landscapes and indeed physical spaces. The idea of coming together in an orderly fashion based on intention and purpose, but seem-ingly chaotic from the outside, is a process that may look like a swarm of bees and not a line of sheep. It takes far greater depth of understanding

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and intellectual capacity to orchestrate and facilitate this type of knowledge sharing and sweat equity that gives credit to the innate abilities inside every human to work together for a common purpose in perpetual overlapping motion. It is a very strong idea. 03. Architecture for sweating in

Sweat lodges in Canada are integral to the First Nations culture and a purification of purpose and body. For contemporary Indigenous communities the constant struggle of going-between two worlds can sicken ones spirit quickly. One must find ways to replicate the principles of the sweat lodge as an architectural outcome, to allow for regeneration of intention to operate strongly within their own world-view, whilst respecting and connecting to the other.

In Huechuraba, on account of the Vivienda Social Mapuche housing project, the community decided they needed to build a ruka in which to meet and connect ideas during the design process and work on creating their own houses, and discuss, how to go about doing that. Again we see the importance of architecture developing spaces for culturally specific negotiations of values and visions - an integral com-ponent to an Indigenous driven design process. One must first connect with themselves before connect-ing to a common vision. The ruka has always been a meeting point of different families and embodies principles worthy of consideration and adoption. The power of developing an architectural construct to define the boundaries of ones shared purpose is immeasurable for internally driven and continuing design processes. Sergio Zaballos a local man living in the houses at Quinta Monroy, Iquique, men-tions that now, on account of the collective act of physically defining the sociocultural setting, all their dreams are personal, as individual families. It could be as simple as building a fence for the safety of the children and getting the concrete on the ground in the determining factors of partnership and respect through sweat. 04. Independence

The collective independence and degree of autono-my a society has from external agency and govern-ment, in addition with the amount of independence individuals or groups have within that collective, are both influences of sweat equity and its relevance to Indigenous driven design processes. The concept of allowing for individual creative inde-

pendence and the collective independence ofthe housing block from government regulations was a driving vision for Quinta Monroy, Iquique. The choice to build when and what is an expression of individual requirements that in the end creates a kind of unifying cohesion that may not have been realized by building completed houses or scattered master plans. Here, the collective independence is enough that personal need and aspiration can flourish. Sergio Zabellos highlights that it’s precisely personal needs that take precedent over creative inspiration from others in the quadrant courtyards. It is an interesting note in the value of independence in diminishing useless comparison or judgment attached to design decisions. The decision in the beginning to only build half a house was a courageous one in that, when finishing what someone else started, residents must choose between feeding the family and build-ing the house Dominic Cullinan’s Cabalgorhythm project in London looks at a similar methodology for creating independence through designed parameters. It is a method of describing professionally through partic-ipation the boundaries for people who are going to be the recipients of the eventual project, which in turn frees them to be independent in their creativity and needs. On Vancouver Island, one is reminded of the power of becoming independent from the government that, in some respects, maintains control through doing just enough to be humane but not enough to mobilize communities to be autonomous. Relying on outside governance or sources of funding only perpetuates the power and control that defines the very character of the source. The Saanich people, after years of residential school and other atroci-ties to mankind, just had to get on doing what they knew they needed to do and built their community back up from the inside. Not long after Universities wanted to be involved and parts of the systems of governance defined by the Department of Indian Affairs begin to become obsolete.

05. Building together

Sweating through doing is more productive for the human spirit than any amount of thinking.

At Quinta Monroy, Praxedes Campos describes that from the moment people received their house they started building, on account of the long, inclusive design process that was all already in their minds. In

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one would earn currency through the sweat of help-ing another. After a while, as time passes, it became necessary to return to typical systems of payment for service. Nonetheless, the act of sweating through building together is a cornerstone of the housing development. For many First Nations communities the building of anything is never a solo pursuit, including a business and its constituency. Anita Epulef, a Mapuche wom-an from Cocina Mapuche in Curarrehue explained that the restaurant is not a business or something she moves along and that there is an entire commu-nity involved, so in that way it moves many other businesses too.

Building the theatre project in Mochudi, in the hills behind Unity Dow’s families home, hammers swing and the gentle patting of earth murmurs away in the background as the old ladies gradually build the rondavel from the ground up. When one knows no Setswana, and for the community, with limited English, one is always amazed at the connection be-tween people that have never spoken to each other, but sweated and built together under many rotations of the sun. It is testimony to the triangulating prop-erties of nature in eliminating cultural imperialism or notions of dominance.

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Vivienda Social Mapuche . Huechuraba, Santiago

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01. Language is culture

Culture and language is unquestionably intertwined. Both influence the way we view the world and each other equally. If one cannot frame their worldview through the words and sounds that were born from the actions and consequences of that worldview, then the culture is torn from reality and distorted. In the context of architecture and Indigenous driven design processes, to not talk about language and cul-ture would be to hold the concept hostage in theory.

In almost any Indigenous community in the world the answer to defining cultural strengthening is through Language. In Llaguepulli in the south of Chile, a lot of the Mapuche youth have lost their language Mapudungun. There is now an urgent need, as with most Indigenous nations dealing with post-colonialism, to record the language. Ceremonies and the spaces that facilitate ceremonies have a role to play here as most oral languages are based in body language, movement and action. To try and revive language without ceremony is pure abstraction. It is suffice to say that the level of polarity and uniqueness between contemporary and traditional culture is directly proportional to the amount of fluent native language left in the community. In Os-oyoos, the Band, according to Chief Clarence Louis, are fairly modernized or assimilated. Not many speak the language anymore but those who can are over 65 that can speak it fluently. The same is true in Seabird Island Band where, of the last ten remaining speakers, only one remains that is fluent. How does all this relate to architecture and design process? Often it is difficult enough explaining the existential properties of space or the long term benefits of well articulated positive sociocultural settings to those that share ones own language, let alone to others that don’t. It isn’t to say that this kind of linguistic deter-minist approach to language barriers has to inhibit an Indigenous designed and led participatory

process, it simply means architecture must finds ways to communicate with non-verbal forms knowledge transfer and creative negotiation and development. If language and culture are intertwined then the teaching of language would equal the revival of culture, by definition. One cannot argue that if peo-ple have control of their education they have more freedom. If their education is in their native tongue, capable of keeping the intentions and values of the culture as pure as they were conceived to be, the freedom becomes transformative - to architectural practices and to the world generally. Speaking with John Elliott we see the truth of what the assimila-tion plan to the First Nations people did, but the revival of language is undoing all of that gradually. It is estimated that over four thousand people died in residential schools in Canada, starved or beaten to death for speaking their language. Likewise, in Aus-tralia the stories are just as mortifying. In the revival of language there are many psychological hurdles one must cross.

The use of elders is the only thread capable of holding together the fabric of cultural transforma-tion through language. John’s father Dave endured a long journey teaching the eighteen remaining fluent speakers of Sencoten. These elders are the profes-sors. If Indigenous driven design processes aren’t engaging in constructive negotiations of knowledge with the professors of communities, in a native language that retains meaning without abstraction, then the process is a sham. Saanich elders working as professors of the Master Apprenticeship program immerse the children into three hundred hours of language, whereby they stay in language the whole time. It is a powerful strategy integral to starting a new life for a new generation. With more programs like this, we may see truer definitions of internally driven design processes happening in language, creating architecture and planning strategy from the pure values of culture without distortion. 02. Oral vs. written

Given the permanent nature of modern architecture and the complexity of technology, to conceive of a process without written words to most is unfath-omable. It is not so much in the eventual docu-mentation of a design or strategy using words that is interesting. What is interesting is the philosophy behind oral cultures in the creative development of an idea.

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To progress successful ideas around creative negoti- ation practices that utilize the value in oral cultures that most Indigenous societies still rely on, it helps to understand the written way of disseminating in-formation and sharing ideas. Through a writing sys-tem we learnt to abstract thought from reality. Every word one chooses to write, including in this writing, is in some way extracted and abstracted by the nature of cognitive reasoning and the restrictions of a twenty six-letter alphabet. In Pucon, Chile, an En-glishman told a story of an IQ test done on a small group of school children, the location unknown. The children were asked to group together pictures they thought were related. Those that had been taught in the Western system of writing grouped to-gether table forks, pitchforks and other forked tools and those that hadn’t been taught to write grouped pitchforks with hay and carts. And so it is with many Indigenous cultures that speak in verbs, not nouns. The repercussions in architectural thinking are loud if one is listening. Why do we want to save oral cultures? Apart from the moral and ethical dimensions of not allowing a culture to die, knowing all that we know it may offer us, it is because ultimately they speak to the truer natural rhythms of the world because they are based on actions, not abstractions. Language then, is tied to how we use it. If you teach a child the word kitty by patting a kitty, do they recognize the word kitty as the animal or the action? In architectural practice we speak in abstracted terms of what a design might do, without it being tied to the action of what it is doing. In this sense an Indigenous driven design process developed in a language tied to the action of a building or planning strategy would be profoundly influential to all worldviews.

It isn’t to say that writing is inherently worse than speaking. For polarized worldviews to communicate there must be value in both the oral and the writ-ten. For the Saanich First Nation people using the resources of the Universities is incredibly important. John Elliott and his colleagues developed an Inte-grated Resource Package (IRP) for the very purposes of being written. Just like any other language that presents their language in front of the Ministry of Education the IRP has to be accepted. Now the Saanich children that go on to study their native Sen-coten language can get credit points in University, just as they would with Spanish, French or German. In the south of Chile, many people understand Mapudungun, but for lack of formal education they find it hard to read and write as the structure of

words and sounds are constructs of a culture outside their own. This is a common paradigm with Indige-nous cultures worldwide. In many cases, the cultural assassination of Indigenous societies has been so ef-fective that there is little energy, resources and depth of knowledge left to develop new ways of turning oral into written language. Similarly, the establishment of a new design process based on no template that is born solely out of the values and rhythms of that culture would take just as many resources and time, if not more. Just as writing is a tool of external influence, so too is the concept of a design process. The question becomes; does one ‘Indigenize’ what the dominant cultural group has established or does one develop completely new ways of doing? 03. Language as a prison

Discussions around linguistic determinism are usually centered on the idea that language difference between cultural groups is a prison to which we are locked and unable to reach each other truthfully. In Indigenous driven design negotiations and knowl-edge exchanges, one could argue a lack of language has the capacity to do the exact opposite. Sometimes it is in the inability to say anything at all, where we must listen to tone, and watch ones body. There is more truthfulness than words in the edge between cultures. negotiating the creative spirit between worldviews. The first is that, in the existential connection above swarms of words and meanings, one is made to be very sure of what they are saying, before they say anything at all. When they do indeed find the words, it is usually the essence of the idea, as typified by words that, through missing their mark, find a kind of side door to meaning that the right words could not have achieved. It is apparent then, that in com-munity driven negotiations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous, language need not be a prison at all, but rather a wide blue ocean to which one must huddle together with the other on the only available pieces of timber.

The second phenomenon is that in knowing few words one is naturally inclined to ask more questions and learn more words. This simple act of curiosity destroys the hierarchy between worldviews and turns both teacher and student, into students. The corner-stones of respect and humility are built on this very act of asking questions, listening intently and repeat-ing the value of ones culture back to the other

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through misguided tonal sounds and humor.

A less romantic reality for some, is that language is actually a prison, if either of the participating par-ties aren’t equipped with respect and humility, and block all intention of learning from each other. In Cape Town we listened to a woman talk of what an identity crisis it was for a black, middle class woman to communicate in English to others in front of her own people. The threat of a monocultural system of language and perpetuated power and control from post-colonial antics puts a cage around the English language in the hearts of many. At the Seabird Island School, during the design process elders told architects and planners about the active nature of the ground around Agassiz but the external agency remained unconvinced on account of an insufficient date from specialists and the fact that modern technology would cater for any minor movements. Dianna Kay describes this story as an example of how sometimes what is communicated from an Indigenous worldview can be confused as ‘story’ or ‘mythology’ on account of its translation into English. How Indigenous ideologies are trans-lated cross-culturally is the toughest part, given they are often based in natural phenomena only experi-enced from being in that place longer than one week.

04. Architects and language

Architecture can facilitate language and culture through the creation of space, with the represen-tation of meaning as an object to center language around. That is to say, the processes to which an idea is conceived, if developed in ones native language, will become part of a story, so that the image-object or building is part of the same physical matter as the story - they are one and the same. Joanne Yovanovich of the Haida First Nation outlines how emotional and political the language piece is and what role architecture can have in facilitating and mediating this psychological land-scape. The number of fluent speakers on the Haida Gwaii islands is so few that everyone wants to hang on to their piece of knowledge. Without the spaces and sociocultural landscape for language to prosper informally and naturally, we see examples of lan-guage as a possession. A natural reaction to having something taken away is to be reminded of the limits of its mortality, and consequentially, our own. The attempted abolition of language in stolen genera-tions and residential schools were virtual holocausts

when one perceives the defining importance of lan-guage in identity and sense of being. The responsi-bility of architecture then is to carry the importance of retaining language in its presence, regardless of its form or process, and transcend issues of owner-ship or internal cultural disparities.

In Huechuraba, Santiago we listen to Iris Llafguen and her husband speak of the difficulties in keeping Mapudungun alive in contemporary urban settings. Her daughter is fluent in Mapundugun now on account of a neighbour two houses down that holds classes. The importance of keeping language in an environment that feels specific culturally, or at least attempts to be, is clear. The power of architecture to connect to a person’s subconscious and understand-ing of one’s own identity is immeasurable. Given the quality of light in the houses at certain times of the day, one could feel like they are in a traditional ruka, which was the objective. Language is connected to smell, light and touch - three things architecture can facilitate.

In deconstructing established learning environments in Indigenous worldviews architecture has a long way to go. John Elliott at Saanich High School says the community is still struggling to find their way with the school. ‘The teachers are developing and negotiating the middle ground between worldviews as they go and it isn’t an easy task.’ John says perhaps ‘one day it will be science and mathematics our style taught by our people in our own language’. One day there will be First Nations Universities handing out doctorates in language for degrees and education taught in language. That is the true dream of the cre-ative spirit. How will architectural processes respond to the obligation of educational spaces in reviving language? Aside from the architecture itself being capable of carrying meaning and language, the role of the archi-tect or designer is to speak many languages and be strong like bamboo but bend with the needs of cul-tural interaction. We need spaces for the reflection of language and the principles of framing discus-sions, the psychology behind word choice and body language in negotiation practices. Holding ones car keys with one foot out the door of the ruka while an elder is talking, is not a constructive interaction.

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05. Technology and language

The story of John Elliott and his father Dave Elliott might prove most useful in describing what role technology has to play in the resuscitation of Indige-nous languages. John’s father designed and introduced the capital letter system for the Sencoten language. He began to see that the culture was dying, so he realized they must develop a new alphabet. He took the developed International Phonetic Alphabet and modified it to express the exact sounds and needs of the language. John says there were a lot of people who were recording language and working with linguists but it wasn’t readily available for the people in the commu-nity. So essentially it was an accessibility problem, the loss of language.

The computer age came to be. A man came from Apple, Canada to talk about digital cameras and give a workshop in the community and started to see how computers could be good tools for cultural revival. On the momentum from this visit students began to use film as a way to record language and art. One day John was filming and talking about the artwork at the students’ gathering place. As he brought back the film to show the man from Apple, the human face on the thunderbirds chest started moving with his voice. The man from Apple was so moved he wanted to do something to help community.

The Sencoten language is now an official language for use in computers and hand held devices. The young children now, have the ability to text message and communicate in language. In addition to this, with over thirty-eight languages, the development of the First Voices website has turned into an online database for language and progressed the sharing of knowledge digitally to no end. With little effort one can imagine how powerful communicating in language using computer technology will be for an Indigenous driven design process.

Mr. Ramano . Molatedi Village, South Africa

First Peoples House . Victoria, B.C

Aditya Kumar . Cape Town

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01. Research tourism

On the sliding scale of interaction between research-ers and communities, touristic opportunism is by far the most unhelpful. Research tourism is not only negative cross culturally, but in any form of engage-ment. If for the moment, we put aside the relevance of University research to community and focus on this one particular stereotype, we may get into the finer grain of what is driving institutional interest in complicated social settings completely foreign to their typical way of life.

Is the ultimate prize ‘shared knowledge’ or to get a kick out of being somewhere exotic to pad out the community section of ones curriculum vitae? Re-search tourism needs to be properly investigated and critiqued before any progressive or transformative relationship between Universities and communities can emerge. Aditya Kumar highlights clearly, at a community engagement seminar at the University of Cape Town, not every research endeavor ends in research tourism, nor does it end in a partnership. Most often it is somewhere in between, but on the discussion of an Indigenous driven design process there is no real room for in between. The biggest dilemma is that the opportunistic agenda is mixed in with a more enabling agenda, but it’s all in there together, with good and bad relationships in both. We have no way of defining success from the point of view of an Indigenous worldview, so one cannot expect to monitor anything apart besides perhaps the minutes spent together. The Senegalese Private School of Architecture, ac-cording to Peter Rich, has a program where students are on the ground in communities and on people’s doorsteps as part of compulsory internships. The difference is that the students are real; they speak the language and are of the same worldview as the community. Typically when one leaves the door open to progressive modes of anything, the wind blows

dust and rubbish through the door. Now we have a paradigm of Dutch schools of architecture coming in on research holidays to warmer climates trying to teach the Senegalese a ‘better way’. It’s both predict-able and unproductive. 02. Universities

‘Thanks for letting me trespass on your land while I critically think in the fresh air’. What are Universities adding to community and what are they extracting?

Universities have a habit of going into a community to extract material to plug into the system of existing information and research that has piled up over the years. Is the institutional model capable of sharing knowledge in polycultural intellectual landscape whereby modes of understanding and recording in-formation from Indigenous worldview is just as valid and relevant? Are we machines or human beings? Whose truth are we recording? Tanja Winkler’s story of failing as a facilitator in one particular University community engagement project is both refreshing and humble in its reflection. If the community has encountered Universities previous-ly, sometimes they can be waiting to be tested on, which swings the creative driving forces around to the external agency. If the passion for enquiry is un-equal or unmatched in any way between community or the researchers the results themselves inevitably will be uneven. Many Indigenous communities are skilled at sitting, waiting and listening to see what is in it for them, after years of practice negotiating empty promises from anonymous four wheel drives. This paradigm automatically sets up an impaired agonistic landscape of creative negotiation, in cases propelling the outsider to try even harder and even-tually break. The real conundrum for Universities, as Tanja points out is that, if a project fails it actually makes for a better piece of research. Are we inadver-tently comfortable with poor outcomes as better war stories? Who is this actually serving? Preparing students wishing to engage in Indigenous driven design practice is a large part of the story. How do you teach someone compassion, intuition and perception? Architectural schools need to provide real service to communities through going and living with people from outside your culture and spending copious amounts of time listening. Peter Rich highlights a great disparity between the verb-based and static, linear nature of the two interacting worldviews. Firstly, there aren’t enough University professors doing physical work. Academia

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is a plunge pool for the verbose that are trained in talking about doing. One talks about what one needs to do in order to engage, while missing out on the engaging altogether. Younger students, if they have the capacity to put their machine-gun pencils away for a week, have the energy and capacity to break the conceptual mind frame of those who have become part of the wallpaper of academia. Michael Hooper sites the First Peoples House at McGill University in Montreal as a wonderfully productive place for students to gather and mend holes in knowledge transfer practices. Despite the potential for positive engagement, Universities are typically laden with external mo-tives, which become a common joke among many Indigenous communities and will remain that way unless some principles of engagement change. It’s not to completely take away from some of the most progressive work in educating the masses of the intricacies of unknown worldviews, but the tide is changing and the bones of traditional cultures, with-out anything to show from the interactions, are stick-ing up out of the sand. In mainstream society we’ve stolen most Indigenous knowledge without giving much credit to the worldview, so its no wonder the thought of a participatory exchange with Univer-sities and release of spiritual and creative capital is losing integrity - there is no trust.

Universities must find new ways to communicate and translate knowledge, develop more transparency and honesty in ones aims for an exchange and com-pletely rethink the system by which one evaluates and reflects on projects from both points of view. 03. Microscopes

Is the abstraction of detail counter intuitive to natu-ral order, or is it necessary to study the grain of sand to appreciate the beach? Universities exist, by their definition to place things under the microscope; to analyze and debate.

Society has in place many professions trained in abstraction for the sake of broader understanding. In sociocultural settlings designed in nature to be dynamic and evolving, the relationship can some-times be awkward. As Peter Rich mentions, there are occasionally art historians and very important anthropologists that have studied the sleeping and eating patterns of African people so they can make sketches in their notebooks, but they don’t speak a word of the language, so its all mud to the wall. Who is benefitting from this microscope view of

culture? He goes on to talk about Mapungubwe and the anglophile games about knowledge that we play when attempting to abstract meaning from a very complicated but powerful brief.Why does one decide on a topic and choose to spend the rest of their life fighting about it but never go and live with the people? In practice, what is the balance between extracting information from culture and educating people from ones own culture? There is no real straight answer, however if one insists on looking through a micro-scope perhaps they might do it in between bouts of listening to people, on the ground, in the communi-ty.At Seabird Island School in Agassiz, some designers insisted that the color black would suit the design, however culturally, black reminded the community of death. Eventually after the external agencies had left and the community was afforded the opportu-nity to redesign it from within, they changed it to dark blue. Reading a book about the role of black in Coast Salish art and culture is to use the micro-scope. It isn’t to say a healthy agonistic landscape of idea-driven negotiations can’t have disagreements. On the contrary, it is the struggle that binds peoples’ spirits together – it is more the depth of under-standing that one is willing to admit they have gone to, out of respect for the other, that enhances the engagement process.

04. What is left behind?

In real terms, everything we do must be physical, i.e. what are you leaving behind? Figuratively speaking this pattern of students getting a pat on their back for their contribution to the world after leaving a disc full of images with the community needs to change.

Learning is unifying to the internal relationship structures in Indigenous communities, and arguably, any community. Learning with outcomes is essential when introducing an external agency. Like any re-spectful interaction in peaceful acts of negotiation, it is customary to leave a gift, the dimensions of which should be directly proportional to the amount of extraction. Asking oneself what they have of value to a community is one of the first questions of any participatory exchange. Never will it be clearer than in an Indigenous driven design process that one has nothing to leave behind.

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In Quinta Monroy, Iquique, Praxedes Campos speaks with pride about architects coming from all over the work, including Harvard, to work there. They were heard and their opinions were taken into account, which was important to the people. At first they gathered with the architects to have a workshop and families were asked to draw their house ‘how they wanted’. It was presented to the architects, who then went back to Harvard and studied all that they could, eventually bringing back three projects as options for community to choose. The feeling of being presented with three options after months of alchemy is unclear, but the feeling that someone gave one their undivided attention is an integral part of establishing respect and basic principles toward an Indigenous driven design process. 05. The reverse

The education and extraction of knowledge from Western culture by First Nations is largely underuti-lized. It is almost always the other way around. Many industries based in understanding human relation-ships or natural ecosystems could benefit greatly from the enquiry and education from Indigenous leaders and teachers.

What if it wasn’t students were not designing programs to take to communities but communities designing programs to work with Universities? Stu-dents have a kind of resilience because they are still curious, and often, but not always, better listeners, as their heads aren’t full of information. The major downfall of the student of course in their skill set is their foundation in the hypothetical. Indigenous communities need real opportunities to create mutu-ally beneficial knowledge systems and new ways of breaking hierarchical governance, so that students may be invited to participate with them, not on them. Joanne Yovanovich from Haida Gwaii, provides clarity on the philosophy of ‘learning by doing’ and experiential learning. The First Nations control over curriculums for different ways of teaching and learn-ing are beginning to change. The biggest challenge is getting people to understand the principles or phi-losophy in the culture. How does one reverse the cy-cle of education and extraction? As Joanne says, very slowly, gently and firmly. It is an exciting thought to have a culture become the core of a curriculum. It is a mind shift for people to do and it is not easily or quickly done. One must engage with people in an open philosophy about knowledge generally, not just the outcome of knowledge. Or rather, what is the

healthiest way to cultivate someone’s mind and foster positivity, strength, respect and humility for all living things? Why is education not as simple as this?

The reaction to the role reversal of education and extraction is an uncomfortable and confronting view for the majority. It is at the very heart of human nature is to say ‘no’¬ to change. In developing the design and program for Skidegate Primary School, on Haida Gwaii, the choice to site the school inside the native reserve was a total reverse in the pattern of apartheid that still occurs in Canada. It is rare to see a public school on reserve. The project brought up a lot of underlying racial tension in the communi-ty with some families not wanting to send their kids to a school with Aboriginal kids. These aren’t exag-gerations, they are just realities of cultural hegemony being uncomfortably revealed through the catalyst of architecture.

How change is presented and framed is the fun-damental difference of its acceptance or rejection. The balance of education and extraction is one that needs a lot more attention and discussion. How to frame these interactions in ways beyond words will be a true task of architecture and architectural discourse.

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Jesuit Ruins . Madikwe Game Reserve

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01. Missionaries, mercenaries and misfits

“Have you had some kind of Damascus experi-ence?”

These words of Cape Town architect Jo Noero cut straight to the heart of the three stereotypes that define most external agencies with an ‘aide’ men-tality. Aside from enduring the paralyzing effects on self-determination from back pocket solutions, Indigenous communities around the world face the delicate matter of dealing with missionaries, merce-naries and misfits and the burden of post-colonial-ism that weighs heavy on the hearts and minds of those left picking up the pieces.

One must first be honest with their intentions before entering into another’s culture and worldview with an agenda they haven’t yet come to terms with. Do the personalities of the agency not fit into the structure of society and have agencies not the outlet for this type of socially engaged work in their own country and so go hunting more in the far reaches of the world? The curiosity of the missionaries, mercenaries and misfits is one their most defining characteristics. One must always ask if they are truly engaged with an Indigenous community; why are you starting the project? Is the focus on creating sustainable people and land systems and seeing enormous value and humility in a culture that already understands this? Probably. Kagiso Jobe in Botswana recalls a story about gypsy caravan settlements from his time in Europe. ‘The government and agencies say that the kids need to get to school but the adults say, no this is our way of life.’ At what point does the agency ride in on the horse and override wisdom that is a function of hundreds of years of knowledge, not just the years of ones existence? Are there universal laws of humanity such as education that need to be rightfully monitored and who below the Great Spirit has

the right to do the monitoring? What is the role of an outsider in mediating this? Federal law in some countries, such as Canada, stated that all children should go to school and that resulted in Residential School. Perhaps the question isn’t about whether education is necessary, like arguing the wetness of water, but that education the way some colonial states designed it, may not be applicable to many First Nations cultural value systems. To remain independent on debates about religion, one mustn’t focus on the Black Robes or Mormons themselves but rather the deeper repercussions of interference by external forces on immobilized soci-eties and recognize that before Western religion was introduced, all Aboriginal societies had profoundly sophisticated spiritual value systems for guidance. Whilst we may not need to repent or feel bad for the spiritual assimilation of a people, not acknowledging it has occured would be worse.

02. Bleeding heart architects

It isn’t the existence of bleeding heart architects that is in question, rather their intention.

South African architect, Peter Rich, reflects clearly on the contemporary paradigms of architects and a subsequent call to action on account of greater social purposes and transparencies in the profession.A pattern is emerging whereby large business enter-prises are requiring a social program as part of their corporate responsibility and Universities in devel-oped countries, where a lot of meaningful architec-tural work is drying up, are chasing a social edge to the Institution’s image. Africa often takes the brunt of a lot of architects and design agencies hoping to balance out their bread and butter with something that actually feels good. Are socially engaged prac-tices make architects famous? If so, what are they leaving behind and how are Indigenous societies becoming empowered? Identifying what is genuine, sustainable, good work is a big learning curve. In a discussion with Aborig-inal architects Jefa Greenway and Rueben Berg, the topic of ‘filtration processes’ arose. Perhaps we need greater transparency, for communities to see the true intentions of external agencies, their capacity to listen and critically think with the community, in evolving creative landscapes over multiple negotia-tions. It is not always the case that architects and de-sign agencies that go chasing socially engaged work are bleeding hearts to begin with. Often, through difficult political landscapes and stark contrasts in

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in socioeconomic health, one is forced into the po-sition of a missionary and are forced to swim harder against the current.

Probably the least useful characteristic of the bleeding heart architect is their propensity to spend only small amounts of time on the ground with the people instead choosing to romanticize of the injustices they felt on their visit from the comfort of their distant homes. What architects are there, living on the coal face with everybody else and what char-acteristics does one need to endure these elongated design process time frames? John Elliott from the Saanich High School on Vancouver Island offers some advice to the bleeding heart design agency. He suggests that there is noth-ing wrong with them because they usually mean well but the children in First Nations schools still need structure. He says, “They need to know their limits. Don’t feel sorry for them because they’re First Na-tions. Everybody has rules and laws in their life that we need to follow - Indigenous people always did. Some come in and are too soft. It’s about having re-spect and one can still help discipline with respect.”

03. Adopted guilt

The burden of the past is heavy on those with even half a conscious. It is what one does with this empa-thy that matters.

It is easy to get swallowed up by the beast that is racism and adopted guilt. If one considers for a moment the laws that prevented language to be spoken, or ceremonies to be performed in Indig-enous communities around the world, places an Indigenous driven design process into a of psycho-logical context; most probably one that is negative. However, the question for communities and the external agencies working with them is, rather than be consumed by the tragedy, how may they both go about rebuilding the fabric of that worldview from a point of new life. The plight of the missionaries, mercenaries and mis-fits paradigm is the perpetual subconscious desire to free oneself of adopted guilt. Often what we don’t talk about is this; that through doing less, one can do more. That is to say, instead of perpetual action on account of vain compassion, perpetual listening would be a more beneficial beginning.

04. Solutionism

It is hard to solve a problem with the energy that created it. When we wrap communities in problems we chain them to those problems forever, until we find the key again.

Michael Woolcock from the World Bank is revolting against this movement of solutionism reinforced by design oriented interactions with communities based in randomized control trials, evaluation based approaches and best practices models. In the field of international development the biggest failure is not recognizing that development isn’t always good, and where necessary to intervene, blanket strategies and solutions to problems rationalized from outside the tens of thousand of communities they are deployed upon, simply don’t work. Beginning this conversation about the search for a solution is often one of the biggest problems in the first place. How does one come up with solutions when most of the problems being solved were the previous ‘solution?’ This is true of typical design processes that are rolled out in Indigenous commu-nities around the world; if one is looking for prob-lems to solve, they will almost certainly find them.

Speaking at further length with Michael Hooper at GSD Harvard we gain a better understanding of this solutionism approach and its relationship to the crisis of Aboriginal housing in Canada. The way the public first became aware of the crisis was through the native reserve Attawapiskat. As imme-diate responses to the question of shelter, architects offered new materials like composite claddings and new technology to retrofit the problem. The feeling of fulfillment in ‘fixing’ the problem is enough to sustain ones satisfaction that the problem has disap-peared. ‘Ten years later the same problem occurs and some-one says, oh chipboard was the answer’, remarks Michael Hooper. As architects and designers de-scend on these communities it is them that may need saving. When you look at this passive creative colo-nization you discover it has been going on for four hundred years in Canada. Why has no one stopped to look at the sociopolitical and socioeconomic contexts of housing or the materials that constitute housing? Worse still, why has no one stopped and looked at the avenues of creative growth and intel-lectual prosperity that surround the community and

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determine its future? Arriving at solutions to these problems is the true task of an Indigenous driven design process. 05. Qualities of endurance

One of the stark realities of an Indigenous driven design process is that outsider agencies do have an integral part to play in creative negotiations. It would be contradictory to speak of interconnectedness and then quarantine oneself from the rest of the world. The question is, in unstable and unfamiliar environments and worldviews how does an outsider maintain the true benefit of mediation through the luxury of being outside a political landscape and what are these qualities of endurance?

It is the responsibility of professional external agen-cies to find a way in countries that have no means of doing work in a particular field while sustaining themselves financially and satisfying the responsibly of their own home and family networks. As Peter Rich highlights, there is a difference between work-ing hard and burning your fingers. It works the other way too, in Indigenous driven design projects. In the interaction of cross-cultural negotiation, it is still important to back sometimes and do cultural things in isolation and specific to your own culture. This is essential to digesting ones influence and re-question-ing intention. It is healthier to retain the identity of two different tribes than try to amalgamate them. As far as Indigenous driven design projects go, six months is a short time for a community develop-ment pilot project. It is emotionally challenging, and often the most intuitive, perceptive and positive influences in a community can’t sustain their energy in the face of such fundamental extended time scales, environmental and cultural change. The ability to endure long periods of time on the ground is a function of ones flexibility and openness to un-know what they know.

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Red Location Museum . Port Elizabeth

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01. Politics and political landscapes

We often confuse politics with political landscapes. Architects and designers shouldn’t concern them-selves with the mechanisms of politics that create political landscapes, but rather how the landscapes themselves may give rise to healthier politics and the restoration of protocol, respect and humility. Internally driven politics can either create respect and order amongst a people or mitigate the essential contestations of life that help protect a worldview from dissolving into sameness with those around it.

What if certain levels of conflict resolution and agonistic pluralism were fundamental to the natural inner systems of an Indigenous community? What if design could provide active areas for opposites to be opposites and for fair and even conflict to pro-duce new and exciting middle ground, rather than attempting to dissolve indifference to a point where we’re picking at the bones of either culture attempt-ing to find something common?

Healthy political landscapes in Indigenous commu-nities vary greatly and are usually a function of lead-ership and a nations relationship with the broader colonial ruling governance. Historically, in Canada Treaties were signed and were established in good faith. Even, now the government is interpreting some legislation differently, creating a political landscapes that despite the paperwork that drives the politics are completely toxic and counter to any notion of positive agonistic pluralism that one may conjure. The landscape of mistrust evidently, grows more distrust out of the rotting soil. Modern land claims carry the same coat of toxicity from the past, and these disrupted systems of fast-cycling federal governments and have politics based a political strat-egy of on control, not on the collective create spirit of people. What is interesting isn’t so much the fact that these power balances are still firmly rooted in imperialism, but the very fact that one can contin

AGON ue having discussions about democracy in design processes while top-down governance flies above the radar of human rights, is astonishing. Before an equal power balance exists in a constructive agonis-tic political landscape, focusing on the politics and mechanisms of an Indigenous driven design process in Canada would be jumping the gun. Alanna Quock suggests that the political structure of the Aishihik and Champagne First Nation in the Yukon is basically the same as what the Indian Act instilled. The reality now is that 1200 citizens are governing themselves under the same political framework as the federal government structure of the Yukon that governs some 40,000 people and are consequentially over-governing their own communi-ty. A lot of Indigenous communities need to define the principles that create their political landscape and communicate that into new modes of governance, or politics specific to worldview. Can Western soci-eties negotiate with political landscapes incongruent to their own?

Well-designed political landscapes purposefully welcome dissention and conflict as mechanisms for continued self-reflection and micro-acts of cultural strengthening that allow one to defend one’s point of view. In immature political landscapes of native and non-native interaction, Joanne Yovanovich from Skidegate, Haida Gwaii describes the paradigm of the ‘devils advocate’ and its effects on cute attempts of democratic decision-making. There are people that engage in agonistic exchanges of knowledge with only their axe to grind under the costume of devils advocate but why? Perhaps who invited the devil or who the devil doesn’t really matter. Some people have a self-appointed a purpose for main-taining continual dysfunction and are culturally indiscriminate in their opposition. The only way for this paradigm to work in internally driven design processes, is to constructively triangulate tension and conflict with a greater purpose and create political landscapes of respect and humility.

Ultimately, if we continue to focus on just the meth-ods of governance in an Indigenous driven design process in the desire to create more ‘democracy’, it will distract us from performing the very acts of ag-onistic exchange that are needed to restore equality and imbalance.

02. Polemic spaces

If form making or concrete decisions on strategy were left entirely up to the collective, we would reach

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the opposite end of democracy that dissolves social and cultural identity and systems for the sake of an immediate outcome. Is the role of architecture to assist in preventing such ineffective means of cross-cultural negotiations? Does the facilitation of difference in polemic spaces through architecture and architectural discourse ensure the necessary amount of contestation among creative opinions to sustain healthy socioeconomic landscapes in community? There is much fertility in social settings spurred on by the continued questioning of ones worldview. Alfred Waugh describes the streetscape of his first University as one full of physicists, musicians and architects, as a productive polemic space. Without the realisation of difference, the realization of self-worth struggles to evolve. In an Indigenous driven design process, what spaces facilitate such reflection and opportunity for collective struggle? How does one get someone out of their silos and into the real world? To prepare oneself mentally for democracy and to live it, are two different things.

Often polemic spaces may be considered catalysts for scattered opinion and the diversion of pro-ductive democratic exchanges. The conditions to make a crowd wise should not be confused with the conditions to make a crowd subdued in sameness. In London, speaking with Dominic Cullinan we begin to examine architect’s role in providing spaces of agonistic pluralism for his ‘cabalgorithm’ concept - an idea based in the psychological unity of a people group, through algorithms of common need. In the non-physical polemic space of architecture, consul-tation is becoming a legal requirement. Unfortunate-ly as it becomes a requirement it also becomes more tokenistic and the propensity to want to address it with as little meaning as possible, naturally arises. It can often be a mere box ticking exercise for the rebellious, free-thinkers.

Sometimes these psychological polemic spaces that are cleverly designed to tick the statutory require-ments of human collaboration are simultaneously choosing to reject it entirely. The reality of the rejection is of course, well justified. One cannot concretize consultation as if it were a Phillips head screwdriver. An Indigenous driven design process, has naturally occurring levels of protocol and respect, mostly under matriarchal value systems that bypass the need to construct new forms of psycho-logical polemic space. That is to say, it isn’t so much a choice, but a functioning organ in the body of a civilization.

Polemic spaces can be contested to have negative impacts on the psychological barriers of ones mind. There is sometimes a propensity for some to use polemic space as a means of unwrapping emotion-al burden to actually create positive sociocultural settings for cultural revitalization. Perhaps this is a function of the capacity of modern Indige-nous driven design processes to carry the positive outcomes of the agonistic struggle through negoti-ation into the built form, not the negative emotions of disagreeances. How does the architecture or strategy for design negotiation impact areas where language differences impair verbal negotiation? It is too idealistic to imagine architects can float above the confines of verbal communication and produce space from creative transcendence?

In the design process for the Nicola Valley Institute of Technology, Alfred Waugh recalls his work with community members and colleague Peter Busby. Aside from the obvious physical benefits of an In-digenous driven design process creating good archi-tecture, what is interesting is the story of an elder’s opposition to the placement of the front door. An elder named Archie, opposed the design of several different entrances with the argument that First Na-tions people have been going through separate doors for two hundred years and ‘from now on everyone will go through the front door to east where the sun rises.’ From this point of healthy contestation, the lines of collaborative communication were free to work together between native and non-native, without either needing to defend themselves. What is also interesting is the polemic properties of archi-tecture in recording inequality across generations through their function or spatial arrangement and how they affect the mentality of the generations that follow.

03. Peaceful contestation

Douglas Cardinal reminds us that collective vision doesn’t equate to everyone agreeing. The native el-ders would say that ‘if everyone agrees with you, you only have half the circle.’

The art of agonism hinges on peaceful contestation, not war. Respect and protocol are two common traits in many existing forms of negotiation and vision making amongst Indigenous nations around the world. Dianna Kay from Seabird Island School speaks about the process in her community. What is said in the negotiations is carefully planned out well before. Ones vision and intention is preconceived gradually and systematically ahead of time and hence

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develops out of humility and respect. It is a proac-tive approach to negotiation rather than a reactive approach, otherwise known as an argument or debate. Agonistic pluralism in this sense is ordered, constructive and peaceful. One knows what they will say, and how to listen. From here the contestation develops over time, in a healthy and productive way, not from feelings of fight or flight, victory or defeat or divide and conquer. In contestations of unequal intellectual capital or un-even distributions of power unregulated by protocol and respect, the chances of a negotiation becoming less circular and more hierarchical are significantly higher. It shouldn’t be one group succumbing to the others way of doing business. As Dianna says, ‘it will be a long walk to get to that point.’ It seems embarrassing to consider the condescending nature of manipulating a cross-cultural negotiation of ideas, with little regard to the minority’s usually very old and established law that has maintained long term peace.

The design process of Skidegate Elementary School was an example of an attempted mediation of two cultures through a peaceful participatory process. It is worthy to note the difficulties in trying to centre the negotiation of intellectual, spiritual and cultural capital inside a framework that borrows from both sides, with vast degrees of difference in protocols that can triangulate disparity. Protocols are inher-ently based in respect for the collective, usually long term and the redefinition and establishment of the protocols of negotiation will go a long way in trian-gulating cultural difference, stemming the flow of cultural imperialism and reducing the suppression of either sides creative equity. The question of creating a framework that borrows protocol from either side may be counter intuitive to ones survival instinct to test what they already know and see how far it will bend. If protocol is too incongruent and insur-mountable for polarized worldviews to mediate, one must find other triangulating mechanisms for peace such as the landscape. Disrespect for protocol is fast evaporated when one stands with another under the hot sun and agrees on the coolness of the shade.

Rather than kick and scream, or worse still, self-de-struct on account of contestation, peace can be found by learning new ways to communicate or ‘frame’ ones point of view to disestablish the predicable power imbalances that eventually stamp out what small embers of interest and passion in the marginalized party that were there to begin with. Michael Hooper, from GSD Harvard, tells a story

about ethnography of pubic participation in North Dakota around oil and gas exploration that looked at two groups and how they mobilized around this contestation. One side constituted town residents and the other one, ranchers. It was atypical of a usual attempt at peaceful con-testation among varied sociocultural and socio-economic groups in that both parties had equal prestige before the introduction of the oil and gas idea. How the town residents managed to ‘frame’ the contestation and not just their vision is the most valuable lesson here. The ranchers eventually found it definitively impossible to express some of their views simply on account of how the agonistic polit-ical landscape of discussion had been built and the conclusive nature of how certain debate topics were formed. The conclusive nature of how one frames and situates a contestation is particularly interesting for disenfranchising financially or politically domi-nating groups over marginalized communities. How does an Indigenous driven design process frame value in a worldview and contestation of established cultural methods, in a way that makes it impossible for the dominating cultural force to not listen?

04. Winners and losers

The word agon is rooted in the premise that the mu-tual admiration between two parties that is acquired in the act of struggling together, far out weighs the admiration or commiseration given to the victor or the defeated.

Ignacio Krell from Maple, clearly defines the principles of agnostic exchange that result in better outcomes for the totality, not just the individual. In Llaguepulli, Chile the Mapuche have a skill or gift that isn’t necessarily ancestral or traditional but most likely stems from fighting a three hundred year war with Spanish colonists against mass assimilation. The decision making process, regardless of points won or lost, is eventually, at the very least semi-consensu-al. How is this achieved? After hearing the opinions of everyone, the leaders of the negotiation start syn-thesizing these opinions into a decision. Sometimes the mutual vision that is born results in exacerbated disagreement and the process continues again until there is no loud opposition. It is easy to fathom, why outside agencies have a difficult time responding to exogenous pressures of time scales and deliver-ables when the rejection of who wins or loses in an exchange of knowledge breaks any expectations attached to linear time at all. Why are some communities using government

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templates for self-analysis and project proformas? Is it for political reasons or monetary? Serious questions need to be asked about the methods of reflection and indeed, what we are reflecting on and whether it has wisdom and value. In an attempt to remain culturally relevant it is not uncommon to see some Indigenous communities engage in win-lose paradigms to frame design projects. Western society thrives on the desire to win, usually for economic gain. How can an Indigenous driven design process detach from these paradigms to create new profor-mas based on the mutual gain of negotiation practic-es not just asset-value. 05. Struggle

In the discussion of self-determination and mobili-zation there is value in the struggle. In opposition to potentially destructive forces that threaten the phys-ical and psychological health of a collective, people self-organize and internal design methods of surviv-al based on a common purpose that transcends the sum of each others differences.

The act of this collective struggle, by definition is a mirror to each individuals own self worth. Often it is only when we’re made to defend what we need to survive, that we can identify it as need. One is forced to ask critical questions of the cultural values one is trying to protect and why they are important. Without opposition, there is little opportunity to test ones passion and reason together simultaneously and so it is in the struggle, that people find their worth, learn to work together and see worth in others. The idea of democracy is sham in design processes in Indigenous communities if it isn’t addressing the benefits of collective struggle and how it can be harnessed for self-determined capacity building and the accumulation of creative currency.

The downfall of discourses surrounding agonistic pluralism is that they are often framed as aggressive, unproductive and inhibitive to process. However, this does not always have to be the case. People are different by their nature and it is these differences that keep us alive and maintain meaningful existenc-es. The difference of an agonistic pluralist view is the way in which one enters a struggle is in peace and respect, not in ego, power and control and in doing so can be like a million drops of water on a piece of granite.

In Quinta Monroy, Iquique we spend time with Ser-gio Zeballos in his home and learn that the struggle was so long, and the fight so important, that

the actual design process may have paled into lesser significance. After drawn out consultations and thorough research the offering of three designs for community to choose from, by the architects, was arguably unimportant. If we disregard the fact that two of the three options didn’t include enough space for all the families and focus on the act of having a choice in the first place, we see that the design outcome is outweighed by the potential for any type of action after seven years of struggle. When so much energy is given to the struggle, one can lose energy for the beginning of the actual de-signing. Perhaps it is the role of architecture to turn the energies of the struggle into stories capable of shaping the design. Ultimately architecture can take a struggle only so far. It can present the opportunity for engagement and self-organization but people are people and will always, by definition be in some form of internal or collective turmoil. This is the sad reality of building on the earth, not necessarily with it. Due to the nature of population growth and the emergence of the kinds of building typologies we see at Quinta Monroy, there is no amount of internal process driven by the collective that can ensure har-mony in the spaces between the buildings as people leave and new people arrive. It is in the capacity for architecture to tell the story of the struggle to which it owes its existence that matters.

It is not always in the physical struggle that capac-ity can be built. Sometimes it is in the perceived struggle that people are mobilized to design new systems of internally driven process. In Huechuraba, Santiago Iris Llaguef speaks of her disappointment that in many other countries Indigenous people are preserved and cared for but the Mapuche in Santiago have had to fight a lot of the battles themselves and there is no support and no attempt at cross-cultural collaboration. In some Indigenous communities, Iris may be right. In the majority of others still gasping for air under the heavy foot of cultural imperialism, however, she is mistaken. What is interesting here is that the sense of entitlement on account of being the most marginalized, provides a psychological cat-alyst to drive an Indigenous driven design process to fight the struggle, the outcome of which will even-tually dissolve the power hierarchies she is rightfully identifying.This time, it is in the ‘perceived struggle’ within the larger fight, that drives the ambition of the Mapuche people in Huechuraba – testimony to the fact that reactive self-empowerment can happen on account of how we frame the world in our collec-tive conscious.

Totem . Haida Gwaii

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Jacqueline.

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The Boss - Okavango Delta, Botswana

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Tseshaht Tribal Multiplex First Nations House of Learning First Peoples HouseSaanich Junior Highschool Squamish Lil’Wat Cultural Centre Christ Church School Gibbons Rent

St CypriansCORC/SDI/Langrug Alexandra Heritage Centre Taxi Rank No.2 DACN Love Diepsloot Art Project Thabaphaswa Mountain LodgeMakuleke Cultural Centre The Outpost Lodge Mapungubwe Interpreta-tion CentreMorula: The Hills of Music Theatre Bopitikelo Cultural Centre Red Location Museum Canaanland Squatter Camp

PROJECTSAFRICA

LONDON

CANADA US CHILE Seabird Island School The West WingPictou Landing Health Centre Long Cove House Hesquiaht Place of Learning Chief Matthew School Reg Davidson Studio Nicola Valley Institute of TechnologyFirst Nations PavilionMt Currie Pithouse Forest Osoyoos Indian Band Nk’mip Desert Cultural CentreSpirit Ridge Resort & VineyardMuseum of Civilization Sk’aadgaa Naay Primary Haida Heritage Centre Alice Lake Longhouse O’Siyam Pavilion

Harvard Design School Centre for Architecture The Highline Participatory City GuggenheimMadison Square

Trawupeyum Mapuche MuseumCocina Mapuche Ruka Trankurra Elemental Quinta Monroy Housing Maple Micro Development LlaguepulliPukara de Quito

Vivienda Social Mapuche

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Chile Anita Epulef Praxedes Campos Sergio Avendano Zeballos Nadia Painefil Jacqueline Chenney Richard Kroeker Paul Pholeros Andrew Burns Alan Powell Diego Abe Paul Haar Andrew & Francoise Lane Jennifer Van Den Bussche Tanja Winkler Unity Dow Chief Matthew Ambas-sadors Lil’Wat Cultural Centre Guide John Chenoweth Reinhard Goehert Nadia Sztendera Claudio Ansorena Alison Guzman Ignacio Krell

Australia Adriano Pulpilli Rueben Berg Jefa Greenaway Lucinda Hartley David Weeks Alanta Colley Andrew Martel Barnaby Bennett Paul MemmottCarol Go-Sam Daphne Nash Mark Moran Cathy KeysShaneen FantinRichard Hugh TomlinsonDavid O’Brien Africa Aditya Kumar Baraka MwauSophie Oldfield Jo NoeroDavid LongAlfredBarbara Schmidt Thabo

PEOPLEINTERVIEWS

THANKYOU

Papi Hannah Le Roux Marie Huchzermeyer Peter Rich Thorsten Deckler Simon Bird Bongani BaloyiKagiso JobeSeth and Mr RamonoRachel Khumo Vuyisile Pandle London Alice Holmberg Thomas Ermacora Dominic Cullinan Alex Warnock-Smith Canada Dianna Kay Albert Marshall Murdena Marshall Richard Kroeker Cecil Sabbas Reg Davidson Elders Council Merritt Ken Tourand Bill Ritchie Chief Clarence Louis

Douglas Cardinal Captain Gold Joanne Yovanovich Shirley Lewis Darrell Ross Alanna Quock Alfred Waugh Patricia Patkau Greg Johnson Jeff Cook Lubor Trubka John Bass John Elliott Keray Wing Sarah Goodwin North America Matthias Nohn Michael Hooper Mike Newman Maggie Jarr Catherine Baker Rick Bell Ethan Kent

Kieran Tapsell Paulina Cast Ignacio Abe Castro Alessandra Dal Mos Alan Powell Wendy & Mike Monk

The most important thing for humankind right now is the reconnection with Indigenous knowledge and the restoration of equality amongst those that have suffered enough. Only love, humility and respect can triumph over our current trajectory. I hope that this knowledge finds its way back to our friends and family where it all began - in Utopia - and they too may share in the riches of a global movement of people seeking to listen to our traditional owners and learn from them - in architecture or otherwise. Do other systems exist, other than the one’s you have been told are correct? What is your role? A lamb, or a lion?

LIONS AND LAMBSTHE BEGINNING .

LIONS & LAMBS

“Lukewarm acceptance is more bewildering than outright rejection.”

Martin Luther King Junior

THOMAS GRAY